I Once Knew A Man
by GWristed
Summary: Pilot 02 is at the mercy of Zechs.  It is this mercy that could lead to salvation for them both. 6x2. 1x2. 3x4    chapter 17: You're Free
1. Chapter 1: For That Instance

Title: I Once Knew A Man

Author: Gilly Wrist

Reviews are most welcome and greatly appreciated.

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><p>I once knew a man you know as a monster.<p>

He is long gone now. As last season's hatchlings, so he has left the nest. And he has crashed down into this earth. Not all of us can fly.

But once, I knew this man. And for that once. For that instance. I ask of you to spare him now.

I will begin now in the third. It is easier this way. I do not know in what person I will be at this end.

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><p>The manthe boy (I was just a boy) cannot stand for shaking. His breaths were gasps, his voice, not above whispering rasps. (The words were curses, and best not heard anyway.) He was dying. And the men in uniforms not matching his own were stalking closer. This fighter/this boy really, this soldier answers to Maxwell. They, the men in uniform, did not know this. But they know he was someone. A someone not on their side. A someone of suspicion. A someone of presumed espionage. These men were correct.

Maxwell had been engaging espionage. Now Maxwell was engaging in dying. The artillery either stopped or the boy had lost his hearing. The men grabbed him by the arm pits and he had no resistance. He was a boy in the arms of men, marveling at how wet his side felt. The shrapnel watering can. The inability to draw much breath held his awareness in his lungs. This was a gift. He was so very dizzy. This was also a gift.

He woke up in the back of a truck. The road was the surface of the moon and each bump, each bump sends a shattering earthquake down his form. The sounds were starting to return to his ears. He heard his own whimpers. The spinning remained.

He then remembered fluorescence and a cold table. This was a hospital. A laboratory. And he had never been so grateful when the mask was pressed down over his nose. If this is my death, he thought. OK.

It is a bright death. Squinting bright. Hard and cold.

The boy woke up in a cell. It was not his death. His hair is hard and crunchy with dried blood. His side is tightly bandaged. He did not dare peek under the bandages as one would not dare peek under the dress of the Santa Maria. There are Certain Things on the list of damnable. Certain Things cannot be unseen. The condition of yourself as Frankenstein is one of them.

He waited, as all must do, in the cubicles of stopped time. The fluorescent rods in the ceiling never switched off. This light was of no comfort. This was a lab rat's death. This worried him. It smelled sterile. It was too bright.

The opening door of the guards was a comfort until he realized they are taking him for a official-acronym-procedure processed by the mind as power and pain. He never imagined torture to be so obvious inside the clean bright halls of official men. In his darkest thoughts, he would paint these rooms poetically. A construct of reality that had some sense. Darkness, bars, medieval shit buckets, rats. He imagined a dark hole with Jean Valjean. The obviousness of all this pained him. The pain of the debriefing pained him. Everything hurt.

He was grateful they only prodded his side. He was grateful they broke his wrists and ankles instead. The wound in his side was a pain to his core. Just the prodding made him nauseous. Perhaps the men had noticed him turn green and decided it was best to torque around elsewhere. No one enjoys the smell of vomit. His broken joints were dull compared to his side. The lasting impression of these purposed disabilities felt as feeble and slow. It thudded around in his gut. His slimmest chances for escape, for defense, had been shattered in four deliberate thuds. He was invalid. He was alone. And if they find out who he is. Things will not improve.

He was once again in the arms of men and they set him down on the cot in the cell. This was a nice gesture. Maxwell believed days have past. He was however, not sure at this time. He retraced his thoughts in circles. His mission had failed. The other pilots cannot rescue him this time. His lips are chapped.

These couple days, the guards carry him to and from his cell. His ankles were swollen and black. The guards told him they are bored. He told them he was once a street performer. They both mourn the loss of his slight-of-hand. That's a shame, both parties feel. Finally, something in common.

It was at the end of these couple days, while he was being dragged down the hallway, that the guards froze. He heard a clicking of boots with authority. He did not dare look up but the shiny shoes stopped before him anyway. His head was hanging over. His eyes were trained on the ground. He marveled at those shiny perfect boots. He hoped his bangs would hide him.

The guards were stiff and alert. He could feel their sharp breaths. He could only hear his heart in his throat. A man of authority, a man of dogma and belief, did not want to bear witness to how enhanced interrogation smelled. A man of state did not want to see the runoff of policy.

He tried not to breathe. He tried to _will_ his nose to grow. His eyes to change color. He could not be recognized.

And then a gloved hand cupped his chin and forced his head up. The other hand, swept his bangs to the side of his face. The man's face was unreadable but Maxwell knew he knew.

Not a muscle twitched on the man, but the pupils in his ice eyes dilated.

Maxwell felt his cheeks heat up. He was terribly embarrassed to be caught red-handed. It was a bizarre feeling, to be sure. But the embarrassment of it all overwhelmed him. A wry smile twisted over his cracked lips. A "well-I-guess-this-is-it" sort've smile, a smile of recognition, a smile of you found me, I guess it's my turn to count to ten and you go hide.

"Where are you taking this," The man asked. His words slice with an air of enunciated steel. Maxwell did not catch the guard's response. The admiral released his chin and his head dropped down to those shiny boots once more. "Gentlemen, I will accompany you."

There was a point somewhere, where the gravity of the situation was simply beyond. Maxwell stopped recording events except for the rhythmic click of the shoes on the floor. The screech of the metal chair snapped him out of the daze. He was alone in an interrogation room with Zechs Merquise.

"You are not to breathe one word of this. Not a word. In two days time you will be transferred to me alone. Is that clear, Pilot 02."

Silence.

"You do not tell them a word of who you are."

Maxwell's mouth was slack with surprise. His eyes held a question.

The voice lost some steel as it lowerd, but the aristocratic air remained fundamental. "You will under my protection. You may be killed. But you will no longer be harmed."

The question was answered. It was a gift.

The Merquise got up, and the chair screeched once more. Maxwell winced a beat after as the noise kicks around his sluggish skull.

"Thank you" Maxwell managed to choke out. He had not spoken for a couple days. His voice was hoarse and weak. It was exhausted.

The man's eyes pierced through his own for a moment. And then the man is gone.

For two days he was left alone. Left to his thoughts, left to the steel of the Merquise. This is was a rogue right hand man. This was in the basket with the snake. He would not survive this. He had perhaps gotten used to the thought. He had perhaps trusted the Merquise, but the thought of not surviving did not thud down his spine like before. If he did not survive it would be ok. It might even be nice.

On the third day an officer introduced herself as Noins. She helped him into a wheelchair and shackled him to it and he went down corridors trying not to worry his lip. His wheelchair was strapped into the transport. He was left alone for the duration of the flight. As the plane began its descent, Noin appeared in the cargo hold with a black hood in her hand. "This will not be for very long." It was not sorry. It was not cruel. This was orders. The darkness was welcome after so many days in the cell with the lights always on. He wanted to sleep. The fear in his belly kept him awake. It was disconcerting to be pushed on a wheelchair while the hot breaths of his exhales were pushed back up his nose at every inhale. He heard the wheelchair over tarmac. The wheels over pavement. The wheels down a smooth surface like marble. The wheels down a muted surface like rug or carpet. He heard elevators. Automatic doors. He finally heard the knob twist of a door. And then the chair stopped moving. And then he heard the door close.

It might have been five minutes, but sleep eventually took him. The darkness of the hood and the silence of the room tempted the exhausted 18 year old. And the exhausted 18 year old surrendered.

When he woke up, it is from the light. Someone had removed his hood while he was asleep. He shook his head, discouraged by his poor reflexes. He sighed and blinked before mustering the courage to look around the room. It is an ornate chamber. A head of state office. And Zechs was behind the large mahogany desk. Maxwell realized he was no longer shackled. His wrists and ankles were in hard casts. Someone had set his bones. He was freezing cold and his head was pounding.

The blonde admiral put down his papers and removed his glasses. "There is a glass of water beside you. It is yours"

Maxwell cringed as he turned. His neck was stiff and he gingerly picked up the glass. He felt the corners of his eyes crinkle in gratitude as he slowly drank it down.

"I need you to recount events to me since your capture."

Maxwell nodded, beginning soft and steady. "They found me in the wreckage. I think around 12 men. Two of them carried me to a truck. I passed out from pain. My left side was badly wounded from the shrapnel. I awoke on a hospital table. I awoke again in a cell. I am not very sure of the time." He flashed Zechs an apologetic shrug before closing his eyes. He heard the scritch scratching of Zech's pen taking notes. His voice remained steady and low. "I was interrogated seven times. Um…_enhanced_ I guess by loud noise, ice baths, general assault, and hammers. My two wrist and two ankle injuries were acquired during these enhancements."

When Maxwell opened his eyes he shrank in his wheelchair. Zech's eyes were poison. Maxwell quickly looked away. The gaze was so sharp and scalding, he dare not look back in the direction of the desk. He held his breath as not to sob. He squeezed his eyes shut to keep the tears from spilling over. He jumped as a hand touched his shoulder. His reflexes were so poor.

"You will not be harmed anymore. I promise you." The voice was firm. "Do you have their names. Was it the two men holding you when I found you?"

It was Maxwell's turn to glance sharply. "Why."

"These things are outside of protocol. They are torture and a violation of the code and procedure for prisoners of war."

"It was systematic." Maxwell said quietly. "Reprimanding one man just moves the practice further underground."

"Executing men," Zechs countered. "These men would die for this."

Maxwell shook his head. "Then I cannot. These men will not die on my accord."

Zechs searched his face. Maxwell shifted; it was uncomfortable to stare up at the man standing before him.

"You are seeking to spare these monsters?"

Maxwell watched as Zechs paced around the room. "It would be a further torture to carry their deaths."

"They deserve their justice."

Maxwell stopped speaking. He had nothing more to say. And he knew better than to enrage this man again.

"You are a very strange creature" Zechs said finally. "I knew some who called you Priest. I did not know why." He picked up the notes on his desk. "Fair enough. If it is your wish they remain unidentified I will pick two men at random to be punished and see to an oversight of procedural enforcement."

The Merquise sat down on the edge of his desk. "And now we must discuss what I am to do with you."

Maxwell did not even attempt to swallow the spit in his mouth.

"You, clearly, 02, cannot be in the prisons. You are too critical to leave to the minds of men. And yet, I cannot inform my superiors. Not until you are at least well. It" and now a dark smile twisted across the man's features. "It violates my moral code." He scanned over the boy. "You cannot face a trial like this. Unable to stand. With casts on your wrists and ankles. It won't do."

Maxwell frowned, wrapping his head around the words. "Does it not fit your vision?" He asked finally. "That one of your five terrorists is an orphan with broken bones?"

"It's almost comical," Zechs replied. "So many memos and meetings and money for this. For you." The comment was almost snide.

"I assure you." Maxwell answered. "We all are not much to look at. We are all children of war."

"Do you care for them?" Zechs asked. "The other four. Do you know them?"

Maxwell nodded. "I care for them. Do not be troubled." At this a dark smile flashed over his tight chapped lips. "They will not be coming for me."

"How can you be sure?" Zechs pressed, standing up from the edge of the desk.

"Because I do this all the time. Get caught."

"But he is always around you. Heero Yuy. 01"

Maxwell snorted. "Is this why? Is this why you've brought me here? As bait for him? You will be waiting a long time."

"I think that's a lie." Zechs answered.

"I don't" Maxwell interrupted. "I don't lie. I do not lie. He will not come."

"You are so sure." Zechs said, moving to his desk and pushing through some paperwork in his drawer. "I can read the history of your many captures and escapes. And who aided you."

The pilot paled. "Please don't." It was hardly above a whisper. He felt so cold he shivered. His head ducked as he cringed.

"Then explain how now is different." Zechs looked up from his papers.

Maxwell weakly shook his head.

"March 23rd, 4 years ago, or should we go back to the lockups during that street gang of yours where was it Colony V-087- ?"

Maxwell convulsed, color draining from his face. He held up his casted hand, albeit shaking, fingers stretched out. "Stop." He took a deep shuddering breath, his head was pounding with pressure. "I will explain."

Zechs sat back down. "Go on."

His face flushed with embarrassment as he sought to begin. He opened and closed his mouth like a fish as he sought to sort this all. The last few days before his capture. How he ran.

"You are rouge." Zechs said.

Maxwell nodded, stunned by the guess. "I refused a mission. The other pilots got orders to terminate me. He will find the situation I'm in now as a satisfactory conclusion."

"What of the others."

"I will not speak of them. Your question was Heero. I answered you."

"What did he call you when you last spoke with him. What was your name"

"Duo." Maxwell answered. "He didn't call me a number if that's the question. He called me by my name."

"I'm satisfied for today. There is a band around your thigh. If you try leaving this apartment you will be sedated immediately and I will be alerted. If you stop breathing I will be alerted immediately. Your location will be monitored at all times. The band monitors your pulse. When I am alerted, they are alerted. And if they are alerted, Treize will know you are here. You do not want Treize to know you are here."

Maxwell nodded.

"You have your own bedroom. My private doctor will be on call for you. You will be fed three times a day and there is already a packet of physical therapy exercises in your room if you chose to do them once the casts come off. You may listen to the radio. You may read books. I would not bathe. I will send a nurse tomorrow to wash your hair if you wish. My doctor said your side is infected and should remain bandaged for now. Do not answer the door or the phone. Do not attempt escape. You have a high fever. You are sick and broken and you will not survive. If you are found during an escape, I can no longer help you and you will be back in the prisons."

The boy did not respond.

"Do not be hard on yourself for what you've shared. You are delirious and dehydrated. My doctor had intravenously given you some pain medication to set your bones. Forgive me for asking questions of you in this state. I feared to wait, knowing the better you were, the less you would say."

Zechs moved behind him and started to wheel him over to his room. "The bathroom is through the door on the left. The closet is on the right. I'll have to find clothes for you."

Maxwell did not say anything.

Zechs folded back the bed covers.

"I am going to help you into bed." He announced, slipping his arms behind Maxwell's back before he could protest. Another snaked along the back of his thighs. The boy gasped in pain as Zech's gingerly pivoted and set him down on the bed, pulling the sheets up around him. "There is a commlink that reaches only me on the nightstand. You may use it and I will have your requests arranged."

The boy nodded. "Thanks" He would not meet Zech's eyes since mentioning the other pilots.

"You are welcome 02. I am sorry for your treatment thus far. It will improve in my care."

The boy would still not look at him and the Merquise left.


	2. Chapter 2: Dawn Parade

Chapter 2: Dawn Parade

Author: Gilly Wrist

I can only imagine he was up late with something important. He could have been sleeping. But a man of responsibility works late into the night. And so he was at that large stately desk, (or large stately bed, propped up, surrounded by papers) when the alarm in his pocket began to ping. It was not an abrasive sound (I'd hear it in the weeks following), it did not scream or buzz with urgency. It was a ping ping ping of my potential death or escape. No one anticipates they might die to the sound of pinging.

I do not know some of the events I will describe, as during these months I was often asleep or unconscious. But I knew the man. Forgive me, as some of this will be a work of my own design. The intent is true. Of that I am sure.

Maxwell was sweating, shaking and his two casted wrists wringing in the sheets. These were night terrors. His feverish brain helped those delusions reach new heights.

The Merquise was in the room in a hurry, waiting for his eyes to adjust as he scanned the windows before his attention turned to the bed. It was the heart rate and the sporadic breathing that had sounded the alarm. The boy was pitching a fit with the oneiroi.

Zechs moved to the side of the bed with a silent discretion. His boots already muffled on the carpet but he took care his movement made no undue noise. He waited and watched, contemplating the best move. The best move was to leave the boy alone. The monitoring control in his pocket read 103 degrees. The boy was in no mortal danger. And that's how it was easiest to think of him. As a boy. So small he was in the large queen bed. So small was his face surrounded by all that hair. So large were his eyes still, like a toddler's. Large and wide-eyed and open.

Zechs sniffed around those thoughts. The cold silver light of the moon had begged his mind to drift. The boy was fine. It was best to leave him to his terrors. The terrorist was fine (his unsound unconscious the punishment of the unsound acts of the waking). He deserved it. Of that Zechs was sure. Good men sleep easy.

Zechs was an insomniac.

The boy gasped and Zechs stiffened with alert, sneering at his own instinctual reaction. The terrorist's hen. It could be a fairy tale. With that thought he pivoted, he had seen enough and it was time to go before he made the little one some cocoa. This time the sneer was more of a snarl. His morals were cackling at him: _A Righteous soldier that cares so little for the lives of men when an innocent looking creature is to blame_. A righteous soldier indeed.

His turned his back, making his way towards the door. Another gasp froze his gait. This dance was pathetic in its absurdity. He moves back over to the bed as a new thought crystallized in his brain: the boy's side.

Pulling back the sheets he scanned for a darker black shadow that would confirm his fears. The sheets were damp with sweat but he saw nothing in the dim light. The boy was clutching his side and Zechs moved forward, gingerly shifting one of the boy's casted wrists, checking to see if the bandage had soaked through. He did not see anything.

But now Duo saw him.

"Hullo" Duo managed in a whisper. Zechs pulled back as if burned.

"Are you in pain?" The voice was loud in the dark room, crashing through the silvery reverie the moonlight had spun over the space. Zechs turned on the light. The boy turned his face away, squinting.

"In here" Duo answered, clearing his throat and swallowing the stale spit in his mouth with distaste. He pressed a finger at the center of his forehead. "I'm sorry if it disturbed ya."

Zechs snorted. Duo found himself imagining how impossible it was to picture this man of state rolling his eyes.

"Your fever is at 103.4. It's supposed to rise a bit at night and it's lower than earlier."

"That's …good news" Duo offered, rubbing his eyes.

"You _are_ bleeding through." Zechs answered, finally peeking down Duo's bare chest to his bandaged side. It was bright and fresh. "Not badly"

Duo struggled to sit up.

"Careful"

The boy exhaled.

"It's frank. You probably tugged on something while you were rolling around."

"I was rolling?"

"You were fighting."

Duo ducked his head, moving his face to the window, to the moon. He felt so young in the eyes of this man. A joke that millions of dollars was spent to find and kill. At the end of the day, they all see him as not much. As weighed in scales and found wanting. As a cosmic comedy sketch that-..

"That's why I don't sleep." Zechs frowned as he noticed the condolence spill off his lips.

The boy's eyes were dark and sad as he pulled his face from the window. His eyes were the gray cold color of dawn, those stretching moments before the sun finally convinces you it is coming, the glimmering around the bend down the subway tunnel, the moments just before you begin to have hope of a new day, of a safe trip home, of soon flying miles and miles through the underground. As above, so below.

What can be found in the dawn sky can be found deep in the earth. The beginnings. The beginnings of what must begin. Everything begins again in time.

Those beginnings were in Duo's eyes now. At that frowned condolence there was something. It was not there yet, but it could come. He wouldn't dare even whisper it, the thought had not even congealed into words, but he, because of this now, he, could maybe get out of this alive. He could maybe, soon or one day, go free.

There was a sadness in this, because there was a surrender in death. There was a peace in the failure of it all. The peace of This Is The Last Time. The weight of an ounce of hope can crush a man who had comforted himself with none. There was a comfort to emptiness, to the vacuum.

Hope came with gravity. Hope is The Story Continues. Hope is It Ain't Over Yet.

Duo was too tired to be terrified. All his exhausted brain could muster was an agonizing sadness. It Wasn't Over Yet. And so he would have to once again make plans for the future.

He blinked slowly and drew in a deliberate breath. He licked his lips with the gravity of it all. These were many thoughts to have, but like in dreams, many thoughts happen in an instant.

There had not been much of a pause. He could take his time and needed it.

"The other pilots didn't sleep much either," Duo said finally, measure and slow. "But I'm the God of Death." He met Zechs eyes. "My half-brother is sleep."

It broke. If you were a ghost the crack would have been deafening. Whatever had been was broken now. Virginity given and taken. It snapped. It shattered. What they had been attempting, this formal captor and captive dynamic, could not be put back together now.

"So you are Thanatos," Zechs answered, and that rejoinder simply tumbled out past his teeth. There was no use even trying. "I'll add that to the list of aliases, 02"

But even the number sounded familiar now, softer, longer. 02 like Oh-Two. Two-Oh. Duo. Like a name. Maxwell could not go back to a number. It weighed down Zechs with the same sadness. There was no use. Hope was heavy on a man who did without it.

There were extra bandages in the room already. He had assumed Duo had field medic training and as Zech's reached for fresh bandages, Duo eyed him.

"I'll page the doctor in the morning," Zechs said, opening the gauze. "I've also been trained, Duo. I'm not changing your bandages. I was just going to wrap it some more."

And so it was said. The perception of anxiety. The belaying of anxiety. The name.

They were screwed.

Dawn is a funny time for very many creatures. The eyes play tricks as the day waits for the sun. Raccoon sized animals dart along peripheries. Everything is more sensitive. Loud is louder, quiet is so very still, and sometimes, you can even hear that which cannot be perceived during the waking hours. Certain Things will only tentatively peek out between the dimensions after there is a sufficient amount of quiet. These Certain Things are usually very timid. To Duo and Zechs, the noticing of them might as well have been a parade.


	3. Chapter 3: Tomorrow's Daylight

Chapter 3: Tomorrow's Daylight

Author: Gilly Wrist

As always, reviews are most welcome, noted, digested etc.

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><p>In my memory, Zechs bandaging my side held the sanctity of some ancient dawn ritual. I hardly dared to breathe as his fingers brushed along my stomach and under my back, working the gauze around and around. His palm snaked under my lower back, effortlessly lifting me a couple inches so the other hand could move the roll of gauze behind me and around. His hand felt so warm and large against my kidneys.<p>

I knew as it happened, I'd remember it always.

The around and around of the gauze, the quiet in the dawn, the blonde bangs in his face, his warm nimble fingers. A touch that was polite and dignified and quick.

I could not think of the implications of all of this.

I was too tired to be as terrified as I should have been.

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><p>The boy did not see the Merquise for days after that dawn encounter. The doctor arrived at noon and attended to his bandages. The fresh blood of last night was the work of his writhing nightmares. He was healing. His body was beginning to recuperate.<p>

Healing of the body is an alchemical process. It is regeneration. It is the discarding of the unnecessary and the rebirth into the new. His form had been in calcination since his capture.

His ego destroyed; his thoughts finally in a place of surrender.

He was in trial, he was under fire. And his infected body mimicked this heating up process.

Calcination is the Great Flood and in that flood, he had found a relief in the abandoning of expectation. He would surely not survive this. He waited as his energy slipped down the drain. He was burning up and burning away. Fire and Water- a steam and a sweat that could evaporate him into thin air.

And from this surrender, this surely-I-will-disappear, he had found, as the last of the water boiled away, that something remained behind.

In the separation he felt distilled. What had been burned off was useless now.

What remained he could not yet name.

Something new was birthing in his thoughts. Something new was stirring and congealing. It was fragile, unnamed, ineffable, but inexorable whatever It was.

Whatever It was, was an it with a capital I.

And It was growing.

Over the next couple days it chewed his stomach into knots.

The visit from the Merquise had felt like a dream. He wondered if the man would pretend it had been, if the man would go back to calling him 02 with the cold boredom of a phone number.

The doctor, once he arrived, was courteous and formal with his touches. His fingers were cold and skilled as he wiped down Duo's side with iodine. When the boy gasped, the doctor said nothing but his touch would lighten or quicken in speed. There was empathy here, despite the clinical disposition.

When the doctor asked, "Are you in pain?" He knew Duo was in pain. It was "Do you want something for the pain." And Duo appreciated the choice. He had feared the doctor had orders to keep him drugged and docile. He had feared he wouldn't have much choice in his own care.

So when the doctor asked "Are you in pain?" Duo almost smiled.

We are all in pain. And pain is a part of the life process.

And so Duo said no thank you.

A tight professional smile ghosted the man's clean-shaven mouth. He looked around mid-forties. His eyes were grey. "You look better than earlier. Your color has improved. Your fever dropped."

"Thank you," Duo said again, "For earlier." He twisted a casted wrist to point to what he was referring to.

"My job" the doctor answered, dismissing the thanks.

"Do you know who I am?" Duo asked.

"A patient," the doctor answered. "I prefer not to know any more."

"Fair enough," Duo said.

"Wise," the doctor counseled.

Duo nodded, suddenly aware of his overwhelming exhaustion. The doctor saw it in his face.

"I'll see you again in one week, unless I am called upon before then."

The doctor excused himself.

The boy fell asleep.

When he woke it was still daylight. He believed it to be of the same day but he could not be sure. Still daylight or tomorrow's daylight made little difference to him now. He knew it. It still bothered him. He pushed it aside.

He desperately needed to relieve himself. The bathroom was across the room. He glanced at the wheelchair and wrinkled his nose. He was not old or cripple.

Swinging his legs off the bed, he tentatively placed them on the ground, testing some weight on them. He felt old and crippled hunched over like this, the smallest task asking hugest effort of him. He shook his head, glad to know he would be dead long before eighty.

He shifted his weight back and forth. It was awkward, the stiff encasing around his ankles. They twinged. It was bearable. He stood up, hands splayed for balance, prepared to fall back on the bed if he needed to. The pain was dull and slow, and as he swayed a bit, they occasionally sparked in a sharper pain. It was still bearable.

The brunette glanced over at the bathroom door and took a deep breath as he gingerly stepped forward. He was thankful he could not witness himself in third person. He could only imagine how pathetically comical he looked, stooped over from his stitched side, balancing on two casted ankles, two casted wrists outstretched to help maintain him.

It was too much.

He closed his eyes for a moment and centered himself. He focused on the bathroom door, chewing on his lip as he made each step, slowly transferring his weight from one leg to another. It reminded him of Wufei's Tai chi chuan walk.

If the room did not feel so official he'd find a bottle to pee in. That thought brought a smile to his face. He could not possibly pee in a bottle in a room as dignified and decorated as this. That last thought got him to the door and he turned the knob, grateful finally to have a chance to sit down and relieve himself. There was no use being in pain while using the toilet and it did not embarrass him to sit down like a girl.

Once finished he made a grave mistake. He had moved over to the sink to wash his hands and without thinking he looked up. If he had thought about it, prepared himself, he would have probably been fine. But he had not thought about it, he had not prepared himself, he had almost forgotten these things existed. Had it been weeks since he had seen this? His reflection in the mirror?

He was looking at himself with his own eyes. It had truly been awhile. And he looked unrecognizable.

His hair was chunky and tangled with sweat. He avoided looking into his eyes. His cheeks were red from the exertion of moving. His mouth was chapped. His neck was bruised. His chest was crisscrossed with bandages and gauze. His arms were so scrawny. The casts on his wrists looked like gauntlets. His fingers were dirty and bruised. His belly button just poked out under the final loop of gauze. A dusting of dark hair and then the hem of over-sized pajama paints clinging below his hipbones. He frowned as he glanced at his hipbones, noticing a handprint. He twisted to get a better glimpse and choked as his side exploded in protest.

"FUCK!" he spat out, doubling over and resting his elbows on the sink counter in pain. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" He mouth opened in a soft panting exhales. "_Fuck._"

You would think he would remember something like a shrapnel-ed side. You would think he could not possibly forget his side was torn up and it was inadvisable to _twist _his abdomen. This was making him nauseous. Everything was making him nauseous.

He glanced up at the mirror now inches away from his face. He stopped breathing as he met his own eyes. He was utterly lost. His eyes were wet with pain. His black pupils searched themselves. He was lost. He couldn't stare at his pupils any longer and squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't like the darkness in pain like this either. It was like his pupils swallowed him. Forcing his eyes open he focused on the delicate lines in his irises. The patterns of indigo and amethyst. His lashes were wet with tears. He forced breath into his body again, and his exhales made condensation on the glass.

He pushed himself up off his elbows, slowly and with care. He was mindful of his side, and he would not forget anytime soon.

He didn't want to do this anymore, this awake thing. Reality was bearing down on him too heavily. He did not like to be alone.

Duo hobbled back to bed. It was easiest to turn around, sit down on it, and slowly swing his legs up. He didn't have the energy to pull the covers over himself. He wished for something he was not sure of. Company, but he was not sure what kind. Safe company. Not Heero, not Zechs. Not pained company. Not Quatre or Trowa or Wufei. Someone without a history. Someone without pain. Maybe animal company, dog company. Yes, he finally decided as his eyes started to droop. He'd feel just fine if he had a dog.


	4. Chapter 4: Maxwell House

Chapter 4: Maxwell House

Author: Gilly Wrist

As always, reviews are most welcome!

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><p>I had needed a dog then. Something loyal, something kind. Something I could be gentle towards and it, in turn, would be gentle and eager to see me. That would have made all the world of difference.<p>

That may have helped heal my heart.

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><p>Duo woke up and it was daylight. This time he was certain it had to be the next day because of the foul taste in his mouth and the crust in his eyes. It felt repetitive. He woke up. He woke up. He woke up. Alone. Each day, all his days now, waking up, falling asleep. By the time he woke up there was a tray in his room with cereal and container of milk on ice.<p>

He hadn't noticed this tray previously, he had not been hungry. He wondered who put it there. Surely the door had to open at some point. Duo frowned, sitting up and wincing as he did. He did not know if the door was locked. He rubbed the band around his thigh, feeling it through the pajama bottoms. He couldn't remember if Zech's told him anything about staying in this room. He had assumed the door was locked. He certainly did want to provoke anything of any kind.

The boy shook his head. He had to focus elsewhere. He was finally feeling better and he was finally ready to start attending to the rituals of the living.

He desperately needed a shower, to wash himself, to wash his hair at least. That would be a puzzle without getting his side or any one of his four casts wet. The pilot shook his head, four casts.

He needed to use the bathroom; he had to brush his teeth. He had to comb his hair. He had to eat something. It sounded exhausting.

The washing, the brushing, the bathroom were in a relatively small place at least. If he got back there, he could get a lot done. He stared across the room at the bathroom for a couple moments, rubbing the sand out of his eyes. And then he slowly, cautiously, began the journey.

Once in the bathroom he avoided the mirror like he was watching a horror film and the music was reaching a crescendo. He did not want to be surprised again. He washed his face and poking around in a drawer, found a toothbrush in plastic and a small tube of paste. He was surprised that he was not surprised. Everything about the chambers of the Merquise was thorough and well-considered.

Maxwell stared down at the casts on his wrists wondering if he could slip one off. He could wash his body carefully enough with a washcloth, but his hair would make his wrist casts soaking wet. He stared down at them, contemplating his next move.

If he could only get one off, he could wash his hair well enough in the sink one-handed. He tried, gingerly to pull. Not even a wiggle. The casts were too fresh. Nothing budged. Duo inhaled and for a reason unbeknownst to him, started to fight off a rising tide of panic. When something is attached to you, impeding you, uncomfortable, inorganic, and you do not have the means to get it off RIGHT NOW, your brain can sometimes snap a little.

Duo forced a deep breath. There were others ways. The casts can stay. They were there to help. He turned his attention to the sink and turned the faucet, waiting for the water to warm before grabbing a washcloth. Untying the drawstring around his waist was enough for the pajama pants to fall to the ground. They were huge on him. He didn't mind except he preferred to not feel impossibly smaller than he already was.

It was not a big deal.

As he bent down with the warm damp cloth in his fingers his ratty braid fell over his back and down his left shoulder. Once he was done with his lower half, he toweled off and warily bent down to pull the pajamas back up over his hips, moving slow and anticipating a terrible pain in his side. Nothing hurt too badly. He picked up the pace as he rinsed off the washcloth, still avoiding the mirror as he washed his neck, his arms, his pits.

As the water dripped down his belly he frowned as he realized he was dumb to wash his body backwards. He was completely inoperable without coffee in the morning. Duo smiled to himself, it was a good sign that his body was craving coffee again. 'Maxwell needs the Maxwell house,' Quatre would always say. Duo sighed, shaking away the memory of the blonde. It was better to keep his mind on puzzles. The puzzle now was his hair.

He frowned as he scanned the bathroom, eyes finally resting on the plastic encasing the extra rolls of toilet paper. There were more gauze bandages in the drawer. With a little luck, he could fashion a ridiculous looking but semi-water proof device.

He had a mechanic's brain. His solutions were often shoddy looking but they'd hold. He felt the same way about his appearance. Shoddily slapped together maybe, but there was strength in his wiry frame. He was held together where it counted. He looked down at his casted wrists. He usually is, anyway.

He shook his head against the memory of the repair he made on Wing once. Heero had him by the neck after that, slammed up against the hanger. Duo didn't break his gaze and Heero eventually let go. It was only fair. Heero had raided his babygirl months before for parts. Here he was, repairing Wing. Yea, he also hadn't asked. But he was _helping_. The repair did hold. Through the next battle at least. He snorted. That asshole didn't even thank him. He learned better than to touch Wing again. He didn't need to. They were even after that.

Scythe was like him. Scarred up and ain't much. He fixed her to be quieter. He fixed her to be quicker. She was unmatched in cloaking. His shoulders relaxed as he honestly appraised his work. She didn't look like much but she too, had it where it counted.

Now the task was a waterproof arm.

He removed the extra rolls of toilet paper and set them down on the sink. The bag was barely long enough.

Duo grabbed his greasy chestnut braid, pulling the rubbing band off the bottom before working the plait open. He warmed up the water in the sink and maneuvered the shampoo out of the shelf in the shower. He paused, exhausted and a little light headed. He thought about waiting until a little bit later. He did not want to have to walk back over to the bathroom once he left it. He glanced out of the open door and over to the disheveled bed. His hair was already unbraided. He sighed as he wrapped one wrist in the plastic, tearing the gauze with his teeth and tying it off. The action made him feel like a junkie. He had seen a lot of them on the streets of his home before the Father found him. V-08744. V-08744. Tied off with the teeth and mainlined. He swayed on his feet, inhaling the steam filling the room.

Duo bent over as he pushed his hair into the sink, sighing with the relief as he rested on his elbows. He'd deal with his scalp in a few minutes. For now, it was enough that the bottom of his hair soak in the hot water. He closed his eyes. Hot water always felt like a privilege.

The boy did not mind it, being grateful. He was more grateful than guilty feeling about the hot water spilling over his hair and down the drain. He appreciated it, how the steam felt in his lungs, how his hair moved against the clear hot consistent water. It was hypnotizing. The running water was nice white noise to his thoughts. His mind was finally clearing. He was thinking of nothing but water, water, water, spilling down, down, down, down, and over, under, around and around. Washing away the sweat and the fear and the dried blood away, away, away.

He could fall asleep like this.

It was a struggle to keep his eyes open and dip his head further into the sink. The plastic bag around his cast and his hand made the shampooing difficult and awkward. He snorted as his mind drifted around the word 'horse condom' and 'fisting glove.' He bit back a grin. It's not his fault his mind fell on weird things. That's what it felt like anyway. Like his arm was stuck inside some prophylactic made for an elephant. Quatre would probably describe these thoughts as Duo starting to feel right as rain again.

Elephant condom.

He rinsed his hair as best he could. He had so much hair and he was tired. He pulled off the plastic wrapper and gauze. Soon he was rubbing a towel over his heavy water soaked tresses. It was dry enough. He stared at the brush he had also found in that well-considered drawer. He couldn't even begin to think about _brushing_ his hair. Untangling it would take at least forty minutes.

His stomach gurgled for food. His legs felt like gundamium alloy.

As he shuffled out of the bathroom, he shot a look at the cereal on the tray before turning his head back over to the bed.

The cereal could wait the boy thought as he yawned. His damp hair clung to his back. He couldn't braid it without combing it first. All of these things had to wait. Bed won. His hair was going to be a nightmare when he woke. Duo shook his head as he sank down on the mattress. He'd deal with it then.

* * *

><p>"Is there a reason you aren't eating,"<p>

Duo started awake, he was not alone.

Zechs was standing before him.

The boy's jaw was slack.

The man was in full uniform. Pristine, as always.

Duo stared down at his own bare and bandaged chest, his knotted half dry hair all over the place.

He must have looked like some feral fucked up mermaid. That thought made Duo's eyes dance a bit, it gave him resolve. These silly thoughts, this sick mind, they were his backbone. Without them he had been so very lost. With them, his armor, he felt stronger at least. Not strong yet, but stronger than he had been.

His head lolled to the side, twisting in a smirk.

"Are you trying to fatten me up for the roast?"

Zech's face was blank, he pivoted, walking out of the room.

"Wait, wait," Duo bit back a yawn as he tried to stop the blonde. "Wait please"

The blonde halted.

"I apologize. I'm rusty, I uh don't get out much. I, please, I'll answer you."

Zechs turned around but came no closer. He had never seen the boy's hair down like this before. The dark coils of hair spilled over the sheets and pillows, spilling over his shoulders.

Duo swallowed under the gaze of the man appraising him.

"I'm not, not eating," he said finally, "If that was your concern." He shrugged his shoulders. "Today was the first day I even noticed food was in the room. I had to wash up first and it made me too tired so I just fell asleep."

Zechs blinked. "Ok," turning again to leave.

"Wait, I uh. I couldn't remember what you said. About this", he rubbed the band on his thigh through his pajama pants. He didn't know what to call it.

The Merquise waited.

"The monitoring device thing on my leg. Am I allowed to leave this room?"

Zech's frowned. "The door has not been locked, Duo. But I am not sure it is a good idea. The door leading out of this apartment is secure. But the rooms of this apartment are free." Zechs exhaled as he gathered the rest of his thoughts. "Yes, you are allowed to leave this room."

"Ok." Duo answered softly. "Thanks."

"Anything else?"

Duo opened his mouth and shut it, ducking his head.

Zechs waited patiently in the silence.

"It's stupid." Duo finally said, blushing and still refusing to meet his gaze. He was grateful his hair was down and he could hide behind it a bit.

"02 I am short on time." Zechs tried.

"Coffee?" Duo tried. "Coffee maker, coffee, and uh…smokes? Anything. It doesn't matter. Truly, truly, coffee and smokes and I'll eat like a soldier and I'll start lookin' good and then I'll be outta your hair and standin' trial as your badass big bad wolf terrorist'n'shit" He rushed, hoping more words would make his request sound better. That plan failed miserably.

Zechs was aghast and somehow somewhere, almost charmed. It was almost funny. His ears were buzzing a bit. He had never in his life heard a person talk as fast and as strange as this.

"_What_," he said tersely. He had not meant it to sound that terse or that snapped.

"Never mind, I'm.. forget I said anything" Duo mumbled, eyes transfixed with the sheets.

He, the Merquise, was rarely on lower ground, rarely on unstable footing. No one talked to him like this. No one asked things like this of him. This boy, this pilot, was _supposed_ to be a better flyer than 01. This boy, this pilot, was _supposed_ to be unmatched in assassination and espionage.

Where were these talents? Where was he hiding the killer?

Yet this could not be some sort of elaborate ruse. He was staring at all of the boy. His bare chest, his large eyes, his fragility, and his diarrhea of the mouth. He was a crazy, irreverent, elven, waif, killer, joker child pilot creature. That combination would hardly congeal in his mind. It was too much.

"Coffee and cigarettes." Zechs said incredulously, shaking the blonde bangs out of his face. "I smoke Red 100s occasionally. Will that brand do?"

Duo's eyes widened and rushed to Zech's face, searching him.

Zech's struggled to remain impassive.

Duo nodded and knew better than to open his mouth again.

"How do you like your coffee?"

"Black" Duo answered. "Please"

Zech's nodded, moving towards the door. Duo's forehead was still scrunched with worry. The boy did not know why talks with Zech's always went this way. He couldn't even name what he meant. They always ended batshit crazy. They could not interact normally. Duo shook his thoughts, HE could not act normally, he was batshit crazy, the Merquise was probably just caught off guard. Duo hardly noticed the Merquise slip through the door, so deep he was in his spinning thoughts. He chewed on his lip.

The blonde pulled the boy's attention away a moment, poking his head back through the doorway. When the Merquise opened his mouth, he spoke politely and slow, enunciating around his elegant cadence. When he opened his mouth, it was how the Merquise always spoke, only a bit slower, a bit more refined. When he opened his mouth, his voice was clear and calm, the voice of a prince. "Red 100s and coffee black for the big bad wolf terrorist and shit."

Duo had been wrong. The Merquise was batshit crazy too.


	5. Chapter 5: And So It Is

Chapter 5: And So It Is  
>Author: Gilly Wrist<p>

As always, reviews, comments, welcomed

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><p>I was an addict. I still am. Addict for cigs, for coffee, for crazy. The coffee high and the cigarette sigh. God, getting my hands on that shit made me feel like a God. Made me feel like me.<p>

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><p>Duo did not know when to expect the man to return. Invigorated by the thoughts of coffee and cigarettes, he eyed that tray with the bowl of cereal, pushing himself out of bed and moving over to the small table and sat down at the single chair. The milk was still cold in the pitcher nestled in an ice bucket. The cereal was corn flakes. He scoffed it down, wiggling a bit at the noise of loud crunching in his ears.<p>

He _had_ been hungry. The moment he smelled the cereal, his senses, dormant from shock and imprisonment came bounding back. As he took his first bite his body decided he was _starving_.

The boy ate like a wolf. He shoveled it down fast. His fast-eating drove the other pilots nuts. Especially WuFei. They called it an American thing. They were wrong.

It could be an American thing, for sure. But his eating was not an American thing. He learned this back in the L2 colony cluster. It was in the alleys or squatted buildings on V-08744 that he learned to eat like this. Sometimes you had to eat and run. Sometimes if you waited someone else snatched it away. Sometimes they all ate until there was nothing left and they were still hungry. Something wild rose up in him while he ate. Something feral. Something alert. He was possessive over food.

It was made so much worse by its irregularity. He was no longer a street rat. He knew it. But being a pilot felt like the same damn thing sometimes. Running, running, running. Getting caught by the bad guys, the ones with the money, the ones with the power, the ones with the food.

The cornflakes were gone and he brought the bowl to his lips, drinking down the last drops of milk.

He forced himself to take a deep breath. His body gurgled, trying to handle it all at once. He suddenly felt very nauseous.

Zechs opened the door.

"Follow me" He said simply.

Duo pushed himself to his feet, swaying and moving along the wall for some extra balance on his two casted ankles. He waited in the doorway, noting the feeling as he crossed its threshold. It had felt alarming not knowing if he was stuck in that lonely room.

He glanced out over the living space. It was opulent and precise, like everything else that had traces of the Merquise. Zechs was moving towards the large windows of the apartment and a glass door. He twisted it open and motioned for Duo to follow.

The boy shuffled over, mindful of his side and his awkward feet, staring up at Zech's questioningly as he moved through the doorway and onto the balcony.

And then he inhaled the fresh air.

He could smell the fresh air. It was autumn. Early autumn and the air. The air smelled like _trees_.

His exhale choked a little. It was late in the day. The sun would be setting soon.

The boy turned around and Zech's was sitting beside a table with two cups of coffee.

And smokes were on the table.

Duo shook his head slowly in amazement. He couldn't fight off the grin.

Zechs was letting him take his time.

The boy still didn't move from the balcony edge, gripping the railing for all he was worth.

"You are allowed on the balcony." Zechs said finally, softly. "Both with me and…alone." It was against his better judgment but his morals would not have it otherwise. You cannot deny a man the stars and the fresh air without joining the ranks of tyrant. You cannot deny the man the feeling of the sun on his face. These things are fundamental, to deny them, inhumane.

And he could readily see, on this small boy's face, how much these gifts meant to the spirit.

At this, Duo ripped his indigo orbs off the sky, meeting Zech's square in the eyes. "Why."

"I told you earlier," Zechs was always quick thinking. "If you try to escape you will be sedated. And Treize will know you are here. It is just as inadvisable for you to escape as it is for me to think a room could hold you."

Duo nodded and moved over to the table, sitting down gingerly and bringing the hot mug of black coffee to his lips. He closed his eyes as it coursed down his throat with its bright acidic energy.

"Thank you," Duo said finally. He looked at the pack of cigarettes and Zech's nodded a go-ahead. He pushed it between his teeth, lighting it with the matches on the table. He took a long drag and they fell into silence, watching the sky.

It should have been overwhelming. Part of him, somewhere, was. Somewhere it was hard to breathe. Somewhere there was weeping. Duo had long felt fractured. He knew he was weeping somewhere in relief, most likely, but presently, physically, he was leaned back in the chair as far back as the stitches in his side would allow with the smallest smile on his face. It wasn't a grin or a smirk this time. It was finally a genuine small smile. A smile from original self. He was content.

Zechs watched the smoke curl out from around the boy's lips.

He noticed everything.

The boy held the cigarette like a joint. Thumb, middle finger, ring finger. He held it in his left hand. He did not know if this was normal or because of the awkward cast.

"Are you left-handed?" Zechs said finally.

"A south-paw?" Duo quipped. "The devil's hand? In Chinese, improper, out of accord. The left-path, immoral, unorthodox. In the Andes, a magician." His grin was large now. "I am all of these things."

Zech's all but rolled his eyes.

"Is your gundam wired that way?"

The grin fell off Duo's face, his eyes still danced, but they were harder now. "It would be a natural assumption. And something I'd prefer to not answer directly."

He took another drag, moving his head back over to the sky. It was drawing close to his favorite time. After sunset, after the sky went magenta with the light of the day, after that, the brilliant bright blue of twilight. The sky was so rich, so very blue. He hoped he'd be outside long enough to see it. And during that, the planets began to peak out. The moon. And then the sky turned into outer space. He missed being among the stars.

"And what of you" Duo said finally. "You are not smoking a cigarette for me to tell which hand you favor."

Zechs eyes widened.

"I think you're right and proper. Justice, authority, correct," Duo smirked. "You are left-footed. But right-handed and left-footed would explain a lot of you. It's rare."

Zechs did not answer.

"Is Epyon right-wired then?"

That almost sounded like a taunt. Duo froze, unsure if he overstepped again.

The blonde snorted. Maybe it was the beginnings of sunset, maybe the situation. The coffee, the balcony, the cigarettes. It felt like this interaction was by choice, not forced design. Two free men.

Zechs hardly felt free most of his waking hours. He smoked occasionally because he could not be caught smoking. His handlers, his underlings could not see him with his 'weak habit'.

Those close to him knew and chastised him, quietly or openly.

He felt free now. Free to choose a death of his own making. Free to not bear the responsibility of the future. Free to live in now. Free to choose cancer. The freedom of it meant he did not even have to light a smoke. He was going to in a couple moments anyway, but he did not need to. Watching Duo and feeling this freedom, however illusioned, however pretend, was enough.

Zechs bit back a smile; reaching for a cigarette and flicking open his metallic lighter with a soft ping. He inhaled and realized he could lean back. He had not been pressed against the back of the chair all this time. Part of him had still been alert, still been formal, was still a man of station.

He leaned back now against the chair and he exhaled his drag.

"You're wrong." Zechs said finally. "I am a…magician, as you are."

Duo shot him a penetrating look. It softened to contemplation. He shook his head and said nothing.

"Epyon is wired correctly. I am one way and seem the other."

"About a lot of things, I think," Duo rejoined.

"Some things." Zechs answered.

"A lot of something. That's for sure." It was a dance around the word bullshit.

Zechs laughed. "Probably," the Merquise finally answered. The laughter felt good in his gut. It had been a long time.

"Oh, for sure." Duo answered, grinning with a wicked twist in the corner of his mouth now.

They felt like two free men and the sun was finally beginning its descent below the horizon.

"I never thought I'd like you." Zechs said finally. The words had a grave weight to them, a resonance with consequence, but they spilled easily from his throat.

The largest wave, usually begins with the easiest slip of the tongue.

Tsunamis begin this way. An almost imperceptible rumbling deep below the crust. An easy enough swell on the surface. Gentle, natural, the ocean shifts with the fluidity water has always allowed. It's in its nature. Intrinsic.

It's only by the time it hits shore that things go wrong. It's only at land, only once these feelings are cornered by beaches, by harbors, by reality that anyone notices this swell cannot fit in the world. That this swell, in a world of industry, and politics, and civilization, has devastating consequences.

They were two boats on wide open water. The swell was barely noticed. The boats just rose higher. It was relative. When the whole ocean rises, what captain notices his boat is two miles from the crust below instead of the usual mile and a half.

The ocean was rising. Their vibrations were rising. The higher selves, the selves outside of clothing, outside of station and duty and other simple 3-d equations, were drawing closer to them now, were pulling them up and up.

Higher selves need freedom to shine through. And higher selves cannot distinguish between an ego's illusion and the real thing. The higher selves did not know somewhere this was a charade that this could not last. Higher selves just operate in now. And in this moment, both the man and the boy felt their spirits brightening. In their physical forms it felt like the air was positively sparking.

Their higher selves, their energy bodies were breathing out a chant of "Finally. Finally I am home. I can BE. I am that I am. I am ME."

They had both needed it. These minutes, this sunset turning twilight, this day turning dusk.

There was a craving somewhere so deep it hurt. Like the rumblings of an earthquake, it was deep in the down below. Like the rumblings of an earthquake, the frequency was slow and dark and in the vast stretches of the deep. Like the rumblings of an earthquake, deep down at its core, it moved in rhythm like the slow rhythmic beat of a shaman's drum. Dum. Dum. Dum.

It was mimicked in their heartbeats, now falling into time.

They were breathing slower, blinking slower, in and out. Dum. Dum. Dum.

They were the most unafraid they had ever been.

And at this moment, it was impossible to think about the shoreline. How could they even conceive it on open water such as this? The shore could be miles away in any 360 degree direction. How could they even conceive of how close or far they were from devastating the land, from crashing into lives, and systems, and paradigms. From the devastating consequences.

"You're not so bad yourself, Merquise," Duo finally answered, a lazy drawl in his voice. "You're not so bad yourself."

And the sky was finally a brilliant bright blue.


	6. Chapter 6: The Monsters Win Tonight

Chapter 6: The Monsters Win Tonight

Author: Gilly Wrist

xxx Sorry it took a couple days my darlings. I was film crewin up in Boston and had no time to sleep, let alone write.

Reviews are most welcome and greatly appreciated.

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><p>I would carry that night with me always. Two free men. We weren't soldiers that night. We weren't enemies. We were almost friends. Almost friends and almost something more. There was an edge in the air that night. That I remember. There was an edge and both of us could have jumped off that cliff maybe. I know I could've. I'm reckless. We could've jumped off into the oblivion that night. We didn't. But I wish we had. Reckless. Reckless abandon.<p>

There was nothing else to recount that evening between us. We finished our cigarettes. The brilliant blue gave way to the black of night. It got colder. We went inside. We did not say goodnight, just went separate ways. Inside held the reminders. To him of his station, to me, the glance of myself in the glass door said everything. The make-believe had faded as fast as that brilliant-blue.

And we were soldiers on different sides of the line once more.

* * *

><p>Duo scowled, tossing and wincing. His head held nightmares. He would not dare be caught screaming again. He would not dare wake up with the Merquise at his side. His cheeks flushed in embarrassment. Would the Merquise even come? He shook the thought away with a snarl.<p>

He did not care. He was some punk shit kid from L2. It didn't even matter where. All the shit's the same in that colony cluster. He was a rat.

And that man's aristocracy reeked of dust and sour wine. Anachronisms. Antiques. Disgraced royalty. Something about the Merquise whispered of royalty. It was probably just his last name or his meticulous vanity. Duo snorted. A man that clean and precise was a man who loved the mirror.

The brunette tossed hard, yelping as his side bit at him in protest.

He wasn't around mirrors growing up. He'd once-over himself in car windows yea, but they didn't fix themselves up and stuff. Duo wrinkled his nose. It wasn't even until Sister Helen that he learned how to braid his hair.

Duo sighed as his head stumbled into an answer for his stress. His hair was not braided. It was reminding him of being a kid again. He really didn't need this.

The boy sat up slowly, mindful of his still annoyed side, grabbing his knotted locks. He raised his hands around his head and could not get his elbows past his ears without a warning flash of pain from the stitches in his side. Duo huffed in frustration, struggling not to rip his hair apart as he swung his hair around his right shoulder and twisted it into a loose messy braid. It didn't feel right; not starting higher up on his head, but it would have to do.

He closed his eyes. His scars felt extra-large at this hour. He bit his lip, trying to comfort himself on the feeling of his hair now pulled back. Gundam. Pilot. Gundam. Pilot. Murderer. Pilot. Soldier. _Murderer_. Damn.

It was going to be a long night.

He was hungry. It took him awhile to realize. The fear, the knot in his stomach, the dry mouth, the anxiety. The boy struggled to keep his composure. So his hair was not braided and he was hungry, he snorted to his thoughts. What a delicate little flower he was. It was troubling how two simple conditions to bring him to the verge so quickly in the dark.

He wasn't sleeping tonight. He'd have nightmares for sure.

Duo slid off the bed and onto the ground, pulling his knees up to his chest. He rested his cheekbone on his knees and inhaled against how uncomfortable it was. He didn't care, he wasn't sleeping tonight and he was giving up on his thoughts entirely.

The monsters win tonight. He surrendered.

He kept his eyes open and his mouth closed as his thoughts swirled around Solo, around the plague. Around those rotting bodies, eyes opened and glazed.

His thoughts drifted to the hands touching him, mouths sucking on him, and _they _all loved to pull on his braid like a leash.

Tears slipped from his eyes as his body rocked under the weight of his grief.

It hurt terribly somewhere that Heero would've put him down like a stray dog. He didn't know what the other pilots thought about it all. He didn't know why the small kindness of the Merquise affected him so. He frowned, ignoring his stomach growl for food. He didn't feel hungry anymore, feeling the nausea of his grief. His body still protested the lack of sustenance. His casts started to itch.

He thought of ice blue eyes. They reminded him of steel blades or something. Quick and precise and sharp. Like fencers. Like dancers. Not like how they danced in those clubs on V-08744 where the people spilled out of the door with a bang and tumbled onto the street for a smoke and a fight. More like how he imagined Kings and Queens danced or something. Back when there were castles. That archaic out-of-time feeling again. It was all the antique shit in the room making him think all loopy like. He didn't belong in a room that looked like this. He wasn't sure where he belonged.

He had made a routine out of it, almost, a life that sort've felt like his own. It reminded him of meth almost. This manic, nightmarish, acid dream. It started to feel like home. Safe houses, food rations, the pained twisted faces of dead soldiers. Everything was heightened and faster. It felt predictable, the pain, the firefights, the safehouses. What wacko feels nostalgic for his life as a terrorist?

_Murderer._

Duo blinked, digging his cheekbone into his bony knees harder.

The boy did not notice the room growing lighter with the approaching dawn.

He did not notice the door knob turning and pushing open.

By the time he did, and snapped out of his daydream, Zechs had seen him.

The braided boy shrugged and Zechs set down a fresh tray of cereal and milk.

"There's coffee in the kitchen," Zechs said, and as he left, he did not shut the door.

By the time Duo mustered the courage to move, his body ached in protest. He found Zech's out on the balcony. There were already two cups of coffee out there.

Zechs was patient and reserved.

Duo lit a cigarette. "Musta been weird, findin' me on the floor."

Zechs let his head fall to the side, staring at him. He took a drag. "Not any stranger than anything else," He answered smoothly.

"This is gonna sound really stupid," Duo said, biting at a hangnail before taking another drag. He felt delirious and neurotic. The calm presence of the man was somewhere between mocking and soothing. Duo felt like a flea-bitten stray dog. "When I was a rat and shit, I didn't braid my hair. I didn't know howda. I was little still. I learned later. I uhhh. After I learned I had it braided always. Always, always. And I can't do it, right now. Properly I mean. I can't get my arms up high enough with my side." Duo shrugged. "It's something I gotta get used to, is all."

Zechs said nothing.

"But I didn't wanna wake you screaming bloody murder or something." A small wicked grin snuck out between his teeth. "I've been known to fucking _scream_ during some nightmares"

"If you would like," Zechs answered delicately. "I can braid your hair."

Duo looked at him aghast. "You know how to braid?"

Zechs snorted. "Have you noticed how long mine is?"

The boy frowned thoughtfully. "No one's ever braided my hair except me and the person that taught me." He wouldn't lie, but saying Sister Helen's name aloud was something he'd rather avoid.

Zechs finished his cigarette and put it out, staring up at Duo. "Like I said, I can, if that is what you wish."

"I," Duo shut his mouth.

"Take your time. The offer stands," Zechs answered. He pushed himself up off the chair and inside to get more coffee.


	7. Chapter 7: The War Did Not Get Em

Chapter 7: The War Didn't Get Em

Author: Gillywrist

I felt bad it'd been a couple days, so I wrote another chapter for you all. reviews are welcome my dears!

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><p>It was sacred to me. Precious even. I'm not sure why. I'm fully aware that it's just hair. Fully aware it's weird for a boy to care so much. That it's weird for a soldier. Heero never said anything about it. But I was sensitive to it, the glances. I perceived he thought it was ridiculous and impractical. It was my line. Again, I'm not sure why. But if I couldn't have this, what could I have. If I couldn't be me, with this, with this braid, then just what was I. What was left?<p>

It was horribly unsafe to put so much importance on anything. That I understood. Anything that could be taken away. It was the decision of a lunatic to get so attached to my hair. In some bizarre way, I thought it was how the dead could recognize me in dreams. How Solo would stay with me as promised. How could his soul recognize me without my hair? The roots and its tendrils tied me to the ground, tied me to L2. I was not ready to let it go.

It became my sense of self more than anything else on my body. I suffered for that decision. Suffered the tugging, the pulling, the stares. We all have our crosses and I chose this. This weight down my back. This reminder of I-don't-know-what.

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><p>"I don't know" Duo said finally, as Zech's returned. "I, yes, I guess." His eyes glanced over ice blue orbs searchingly. "Yes. If you don't mind."<p>

Zechs sat down again and finished his coffee.

Duo stared out over the balcony, trying not to regret his decision, focusing on the gray overcast sky. He felt like a lunatic.

The boy followed the Merquise inside and Duo sat down on the couch as the man disappeared through a doorway that Duo presumed led to his sleeping quarters.

The man returned with a brush.

"Howya wanna do this pal?" Duo's voice felt weak and strained.

The man was quiet and calm. "If you would sit on the ground in front of the couch, I'll sit behind you." Zechs said.

Duo complied, scooting onto the ground.

It was unnerving, Zech's behind him. The hairs rose on his arm. The enemy behind him. The enemy could reach out and snap his neck. Heero was good at snapping necks. He had not realized he was holding his breath.

"I've never done this." Zechs said finally. "I've only brushed my own hair. Do let me know if I hurt you."

Duo nodded before vocalizing a small, "ok."

The blonde Merquise slipped the rubber band off of Duo's sloppy braid, untangling the three woven strands before getting to work.

It was weird. It was really really weird. Duo struggled to sit still. He was reminded of his days as a street rat.

Zechs frowned, noticing the boy's agitation and the silence. "You alright with the tv?" He turned it on. It was an archeology show, about the Giza pyramids.

Duo watched with rapt attention and Zech's with a sigh of relief, realized the boy was breathing easier now.

"Do they still exist?" Duo asked finally.

"Hmm?" Zechs answered. "The pyramids? Yes. In Egypt."

Duo yawned, staring at camels and the setting sun. "The war didn't get em?"

Zechs smile was sad and slow. It didn't matter, Duo's back was towards him. The question sounded so innocent. Maybe it was the yawn. Duo was a war baby, it hurt him deep in his gut somewhere to think about that. "No. The war did not destroy them. The pyramids still stand."

Duo nodded, Zechs sighed thankful his grip on the boy's hair was loose. He began at the tangled bottom, untangling with his fingers before brushing the locks. He worked his way up until he could brush in one smooth stroke from the boy's scalp all the way down his back to where his hair stopped on the floor.

He was glad the boy was relaxing. At this rate, combing his hair was going to take a long time.

"I wanna" yawn "see em." Duo said. "Are there mummies inside?"

"I don't think anymore." Zechs answered. "There could be. I think some of them have poisonous gas. When they discover new ones I think they have to let them air out for a couple days."

"They discover new ones?" Duo said, ripping his eyes off the television to stare up at Zechs.

Zech's fingers were as fast as the boy's movement, dropping his fingers so the boy's scalp was not tugged.

"Sorry," Duo said but he didn't seem it, and he didn't turn back around, he just waited for Zech's answer.

The Merquise looked down at the boy. He was so trusting, exhausted like this. So trusting and so young. Duo felt like a younger brother to him or something. Something to protect. Something to fight to keep safe. Something in his care. He didn't bother trying to shake off the feeling. They were pretending again. It was too easy. "Not big new ones like those," Zechs answered. "Smaller tombs. From the same time period, or even older sometimes. Hidden tombs, underground, buried in the sand."

Duo blinked slowly, rubbing one of his eyes as he bit back a yawn.

"I don't think they are doing excavations still now."

"Because of the war," Duo said.

Zechs nodded, holding the brush in his hand. "Because of the war. But afterwards, it'd probably start up again. The funding would come back. The universities would give grants again."

"I'd like to do that," Duo said, turning back around and staring at the television. "Find mummies underground. If I found new tombs I bet there would be new mummies in those."

Zechs bit back a smirk, picturing the boy uncovering a tomb in the desert. It was hard to picture but he struggled to form the image in his mind anyway. "Yes. If you found new tombs, there would probably be new mummies inside."

Duo didn't answer but his exhale sounded content and deep.

"It'd be a good path for the God of Death." Zechs got back to the task at hand. "Uncovering the ancient halls dedicated to him. The ancient souls waiting for him."

Duo laughed. It was sleepy and lazy. "That's what I'm sayin." The boy yawned again. "After the war." He snorted. "Like I'll make it. I'm gonna have to escape eventually so ya don't kill me before I find some mummies."

Zechs frowned, distracted by that thought. The thought of the trial. The thought of this child being executed. He accidently snagged the brush on a knot in Duo's hair. The boy stiffened but didn't say a word.

"Sorry," Zechs rushed, untangling the knot with precise fingers.

"It's a pain in the ass," Duo answered.

"I don't mind." Zechs answered. The hair was finally unknotted; he was able to start braiding. The Merquise slipped his fingers between Duo's shining chestnut locks, figuring out what pieces he was going to pull first.

It was a soft noise, hardly audible over the Moroccan music now being played on the Egyptian show, but Zechs almost wanted to identify it as a he-didn't-know. He strained his ears to hear it again. It was a low rumbling of contentment. Not a moan. Maybe a groan? Or the way he'd imagine a lion would purr or something. Not a house cat, not a throat noise. Something almost from the gut. He felt Duo pressing his head against the ministrations. The Merquise's mind drifted to a snarky comment but he held his tongue. He didn't want the boy to stop. He didn't even know if the boy realized what he was doing. Come to think of it, the boy almost sounded like he'd fallen asleep.

He continued to rub the boy's scalp and now, Duo's movements were shameless, he had completely leaned back, cheek rested against the Zech's thigh as he leaned into the scalp massage. _He has to be asleep_, Zechs thought. And sure enough, that low rumbling sound, that soft low purr, Zechs was able to identify as a snore.

It was hard not to laugh aloud. Gundam pilot 02, infamous pilot and assassin, asleep on the ground between his legs, lullabied to sleep by enemy #2 rubbing his scalp.

Zechs finished French braiding the boy's hair, gently maneuvering him off the carpeted ground and onto the couch (reaching down and wrapping his arm under one of the boy's armpits, and another under his knees, Zechs was able to remain seated as he picked him up and twisted his own torso to set the boy down on the couch beside him). The couch was low to the ground, in French provincial style. A bit small for Zechs to pass out on, but for Maxwell, the dimensions were perfect.

Zechs stood up gently, maneuvering Duo's legs out a little so he was not so scrunched up.

He stood there awhile, staring down at the boy.

It was insane. It was absolute madness. It was going to be trouble.

Unfortunately, Zechs did not mind insanity. He did not mind madness. And he always had a thing for trouble. By the looks of it, Duo did not give a shit either.

This had the makings of a deadly situation.

But for the moment, for a time, it was effortless to pretend.


	8. Chapter 8: The Richter Scale

Chapter 8: The Richter Scale

Author: Gilly Wrist

reviews are most welcome.

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><p>When they talk about curiosity and it killing the cat but that usually being ok because cats have nine lives or something, they are talking about someone like me. That's why I'm good at espionage. Because I'm pretty lucky, usually, cause all my dead friends sort've watch over me a lot, and because I'm a curious little shit. Half the shit I ever found out about was random chance. Another file would catch my eye, it'd be named something weird, like Cocoa or SnoBall (so you know it's either porn or weapons).<p>

I like to snoop. I like to eavesdrop. It's pretty dangerous that those compulsions were nursed and coddled within me. It got me in and out of trouble all the damn time.

Unfortunately, I was hurdling towards a dead end.

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><p>The door slammed closed with a loud CRACK! And Duo's eyes flew open as he covered his head with his hands, body scrunching in a tight ball.<p>

The Merquise moved furiously, into his own chambers, slamming the door of his own private quarters again, CRACK!

Unfortunately, this time, the door slamming move was not as effective. The force of the Merquise's arm was so strong it slammed the door shut and the after-shock pushed it back open.

Duo stared, eyes wide, breathes short and quick. His stomach twisted into knots as he waited. Waited for the Merquise to come out of his chambers, or for yelling, for soldiers, for gunfire. It could've been thirty seconds, it could've been twenty minutes, neither of them noticed the time. Duo would say it was ages. Zechs, but a couple seconds.

Either way, Duo hated it. He hated being on edge, he hated the moments that a wave hovers at its peak, right before it begins to break. He'd rather rush to it; confront it head on, then wait. The waiting killed him; it was his inquisitive nature, his curiosity coupled with dread that forced him off the couch.

He didn't dare even swallow his spit as he walked over to the door still ajar, slipping through the opening. Zech's was at his desk, furiously flipping through papers.

"I thought you don't lie." The man's voice was cold and clipped. Zechs got up from his desk abruptly and Duo winced.

"I don't lie," Duo said softly, finally.

Zechs all but snarled, throwing the satellite images in his hands at Duo's person. They scattered all over the floor.

"I don't know what these are," Duo said. His voice was quaking and low and calm. He spoke slowly and carefully. He would not dare kneel down and look at the images. He would not dare feed into the fast anger of the room.

"The soldiers you sought to _spare _are dead anyway." Zechs snapped. "That's satellite of the prison. The place is leveled. You have three guesses."

"I don't need three," Duo answered quietly.

With that Zech's moved swiftly towards him. Duo fought not to cower and he was largely successful, but he couldn't stop his head from ducking a bit from what he thought would've been a wincing blow. The man went for his throat inside.

"So you _knew_ he'd come try to save you." The whisper had the vehemence of a growl.

Duo shook his head, he couldn't shake it very far with the man's hand holding his neck, pinning him against the wall. He was not being strangled, he was being held. If the situation was not so grave he would've been reminded of a wolf. It was a display of dominance. Duo's mind kept things simple. He was happy he was still able to breathe, so he was making sure to breathe. His nostrils flared a bit in an effort to pull larger faster breathes into his lungs.

"No," Duo managed, eyes finally locking on Zechs. The man's eyes were dark and cold, a bit surprised the indigo orbs would meet his at a time like this. "You're wrong."

To Zechs, like wolves, Duo meeting his eyes was an act of defiance.

To Duo, while over certain things he'd act like a pussy (bees, head colds, hunger), staring into his death was not one of those times. He would not cower from the end. It was in his soul to meet his maker with steady eyes. And so Duo would not look away. It was not defiance, it was surrender and strength of knowing. If these were to be his final moments, he'd meet them with his eyes open.

Zechs didn't answer. His eyes were lost in clear and steady indigo. He felt like a fool for trusting this terrorist boy.

"I was wrong." Duo continued. "I thought prison would be enough." Duo shrugged. It was very awkward to shrug with nonchalance when your neck is being pinned against the sculpted French provincial molding of a doorframe. "That sucks." Duo exhaled. "He is still trying to kill me." Duo paused, eyes still locked on those icy cerulean eyes. "He's gonna have to get here pretty fast if he doesn't wanna miss the show."

Zechs dropped his hand from Duo's neck as if he'd been burned.

"I'm not going to _kill_ you." Zechs answered. "I'm just." He looked around, suddenly at a loss for words, his anger was leaking out of him fast, and he did not know from where. He looked back at Duo, "I'm just really unhappy about this turn in events." His eyes were softer now, they were sorry now.

"I'm really unhappy too." Duo supplied, trying to offer consolation.

It was unnerving that the boy had forgiven him. Zechs shook his head, it was too fast to be forgiveness; and those eyes had not accused him of anything. It was more like Duo never passed judgment on his anger at all. He exhaled audibly out of weariness.

"I'm 90 lbs of fuckin nothing. I wish everyone didn't wanna kill me so bad."

"I know the feeling." Zechs answered, his voice suddenly tired. He was not going to elaborate aloud but he felt the same way when his parents were assassinated. He went missing because he had too. He went missing because the whole world was looking for him, both sides desperate to hunt him down first. Both sides after a kid, a seven year old, _50_ lbs of fucking nothing. And then Treize found him.

Treize.

His body seemed to drop a couple degrees in temperature.

Duo noticed the man's eyes widen. "What" he asked, leaning casually against the wall he had just been pressed up against, still, with his body language, trying to diffuse the situation. It was a weird set of tactics to be sure, but it'd work as well as anything else. He had learned it early on from G, how to work with energy. It had to do with imagination and pretending and Duo was very good at both those things.

Zechs moved closer to him again, but it was not in anger. Duo did not shy away.

"He's gonna know you are here." The voice was a whisper. "You need to make a decision Duo. What do you value more, your dignity or your life"

It sounded like a melodramatic joke. It was a statement, not a question.

"What?" Duo answered.

Zechs shook his head. "There is not a lot of time. Treize will know you are here. I need an answer."

"I don't know what I'm answering," Duo finally snapped. His face was flushed with confusion.

"When he comes through that door I can push the situation one of two ways. I can insure you are treated with honor and executed quickly. Or I can try and keep you with me, but to do that, we're going to have to be convincing."

"Convincing about what." Duo's voice was steady and soft. This really sucked. He was losing everything again, it was just draining right out of his eyes.

"You're going to have to trust me, Duo"

Zechs froze, hearing a knock at the door. He pushed his hand over Duo's mouth and whispered quickly in his ear. "What's your answer" He peeled his hand back.

"My life." Duo mumbled. "I'd like to save that if possible."

"Trust me. Listen to me. Obey my words. We are going to pretend. You know how to pretend. And if we can convince him, you will not come to harm. Ok?"

Duo nodded behind large eyes, his cheeks flushed with confusion and embarrassment.

"You will not recognize me. But remember what I said to you once." His voice was rushed and low, almost husky with quick spitting force. "I am one way and seem another. What I do now do not judge me on. It is not me."

Duo could feel stones materializing in his stomach, weighing down his gut. His heart was in the throat. He nodded. "You'll be lying."

The knocks were growing louder.

Zechs nodded, moving out of the room. "I'll be lying."

THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP.

Treize was at the door.


	9. Chapter 9: Semantics

Chapter 9: Semantics

Author: Gilly Wrist

reviews are most most welcome, and humbly received.

to the reviews already received, I am most grateful.

Karina001 you are an angel. Enna Nammo, Zechs needs that luck. Cewo, part of the speed of this chapter is for you, my dear. The cliff hanger was there but I tried to rescue you quickly! Its tough to read a cliff hanger & not know when more will come, so hopefully you no longer feel hangin'. Snowdragonct I hope you are satisfied with this , it brought a smile to my face to read that you were waiting and I absolutely loved the 'oops for Zechs' comment, caring is an oops indeed. Thank you for your words Dyna Dee!

Thank you all for your words, I hope you enjoy reading mine.

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><p>I don't have thoughts for what happened next. I have no clever asides or commentary. My throat tightens when I think back on it. The word <em>pretend <em>was all my head would wrap around. It didn't feel like pretend. It felt like when I would go somewhere else when my 2 week foster family would fight about me. It felt like when shit got real bad when I was little and I'd just space out. That in-between place of void. Of nothing.

I'd come to think of it later as a space between dimensions that the angels brought me to, a place of nothing, and in that nothing, safety and peace. I'd have words later for it, like astral projecting or something. I didn't have words for it then. It was just the dull clouded place of slower reflexes and the thud of pain somewhere else. A pain that could not touch me anymore because I no longer had a body, a pain deep in the heart I had left _back there_.

I am here in defense of this man. And I guess the question is why, then why this? Why talk about this. This was the line the man walked down. He was this and he was that. He seemed one way and was another. He had a foot in both worlds. You must know the world he was in, to understand the remarkable choices. You have to know how bad it was, how bad he was, to appreciate the light. To even begin to comprehend how unimportant the light appeared in a hole as dark as this. Flashes of brilliance in a storm. Like lightening.

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><p>"Keep your eyes on the floor" the Merquise had whispered in Duo's ear. It was the final thing he had said before twisting open the door.<p>

"Colonel," the Merquise said.

"It's been awhile, Zechs," The man cut in smoothly, stepping inside. "Oh Good, I was hoping you had him."

The blonde smirked, gently closing the door behind his commander. "I have him alright."

"Why aren't you on your knees, _dear pilot_."

Duo glanced over at Zechs and suddenly the man was at his side, kicking the back of the boy's knees and catching him by the braid as he fell to the ground. Duo bit back a yelp of surprise and pain, struggling to keep his eyes on the ground once more.

"He makes such sweet little sounds, Zechs"

The Merquise sank his fingers into the boy's scalp, before petting the top of his head. "You can't imagine, Treize."

The man laughed. "Now I understand those reports about you hiding in your room. Clever devil." He moved over to the boy "Oh don't look so wounded Zechs, I keep tabs because I'm fond of you." Duo kept his eyes trained on the carpet, staring at those shiny black boots. He did not dare look up further to the man's white pants. He could hardly breathe.

A gloved hand grabbed his chin and tugged his face upwards. He wanted to shut his eyes like he was being forced to stare into the face of Medusa, like he surely would not survive this look.

The man studied him carefully, turning to the Merquise. "Well I'm glad you haven't broken him yet. You've only had him for what a week? That would've been a poor show. We spent too much money for you to come apart that fast." He ran his thumb along Duo's cheekbone. The boy tried to jerk back but Zech's hand was on the back of his neck.

"Be still" Zechs said simply in a low voice.

Treize grinned. "Does the street rat really listen?" He sounded incredulous.

"I like it better when he doesn't." The Merquise answered smoothly.

The man brushed his gloved finger over the boy's bottom lip and Duo shut his eyes. "Oh no, _dear pilot._" The man tsked, grabbing the boy's bottom lip as if to pinch it. "You'll keep those eyes open as I inspect you."

Duo forced his eyes open. Treize pinched his lip anyway before dropping the boy's chin.

"Let's sit Zechs, I'd like some tea."

The Merquise nodded and pulled Duo back to his feet by his braid.

The Colonel pulled the commlink out of his pocket, requesting the servants bring Earl Grey.

They moved to the sitting room, Zechs holding the boy's braid like a leash. When the blonde sat down, he pulled Duo onto his lap, and the boy complied, pliable as Zechs maneuvered him until he was sideways across the man's thighs. He rested his head in the crook of the blonde's neck as strong arms wrapped around him.

It felt like a cage. He struggled not to wriggle, keenly away that his ass was pressed into Zech's crotch. The thought made him blush and he tried to just focus on breathing again. His heart was pounding. And he noticed, pressed up against the man's chest, so was the Merquise's. He was thankful at least that he did not have to look at the man with his face buried in the Merquise's skin. The ash blonde hair tickled over his face and the man's neck smelled clean like soap and a hint of aftershave. It was hardly a comfort, but hardly a comfort was far better than none.

"The Specials would love to break his neck." Treize said finally, thanking the servants who arrived and poured them both tea. "The casts, was that you or my darling prison guards."

"The guards." His tone sounded bored.

"Good." Treize answered. "At least they were following orders until their untimely demise."

The Merquise frowned. "Torture is against the conventions."

"Terrorists are not part of a legal war. They do not hail from a legal warring nation. They do not represent the people. They are war children, brainwashed murderers with expensive toys. If they represented a nation they'd be soldiers and therefore afforded all the proper rights. You know as well as I do, Zechs, I don't run a circus." The man took a delicate sip of tea. "And if I did, Zechs, afford them the treatment of soldiers, how could I possibly let you keep one as a whore?"

Duo's cheeks burned.

"It's unsavory." Zechs said finally.

"You don't like the smell of it? Torturing terrorists? Think about the smell of the corpses courtesy of 01. And you _are _raping this boy." Treize answered.

"_Treize_." It was a growling, warning tone.

"I don't judge you!" the Colonel responded merrily. "I'm just playing devil's advocate. Unless you're telling me he likes it." The grin was waggish.

The Merquise did not answer.

"Do not answer then, dear friend." Treize said. "All I'm saying is the policy is clean. We honor soldiers. We do not honor terrorists. We do not fuck soldiers. And I'll certainly let you fuck your terrorist" Treize took another sip of tea, "until you're bored of him. Or I think up something better for him."

Zechs frowned.

"How possessive you are over him. Has he wormed his way into your heart already?"

At that Zechs snickered.

"I didn't think so." Treize answered but it had a precision to it that sounded like a lie. Treize had not been convinced.

Zechs saw it on his face. The Colonel knew him too well. "I'm not done with him." Again, the tone was bored and disengaged.

"But you will bore of him. Like all the others."

Zechs sighed.

"And then my Specials will have target practice!"

"He'd go to Trial," Zechs answered firmly.

"So he could say what. That he very much enjoyed sucking your cock?" Treize rolled his eyes. "I have honor, as you do Zechs. I know, where _yours_ comes from. It's a dream. _It's a dream_. Do not seek to moralize with me, as you cross the line. My honor, my honor lies in the truth. In the reality of war and of soldiers and of terrorists. Don't you see Zechs?" And with this the man leaned closer. "War brings out the very best in all of us. It brings out our humanity, our failings, our honesty." He grinned. "Your morals are a dream and a web of deceit, old friend. You cling to the kingdom, but you are a killer. You balk at torture, but how cruelly you pushed your little whore to his knees." The man set his teacup down gently on the china plate. "You are no better. What have you told him? If he rides you like he loves it you might just let him live?"

"_Enough_." Zechs growled.

"I apologize, Zechs. I've gone too far. And in the presence of a child, no less. How thoughtless of me." He picked up a tea cookie in his delicate fingers, nibbling thoughtfully. "I think the others have more honor. I did not expect this, to be sure. How compliant he lays in your lap. It's very interesting. I wonder what you've told him about me."

For this Zechs had no answer.

Duo's cheek felt soft and hot against his neck. He felt the boy's shallow fast breathing. He sounded like he was hyperventilating.

"Those guards had families Zechs. And those guards were following orders. Your morals, your dream world, singles out those you find remarkable. Singles out those who stand alone. And you seek to save them. Even still you think so lowly of those beneath you. Even still you cannot be bothered with the common man. Were the boy ugly, or not your pilot, you would not have noticed he existed at all."

Zechs eyes narrowed. He knew it to be true somewhere.

"And that's fine." Treize continued. "That's just fine. But don't ask me to grant your whore due process. Thousands of lives have been lost now because of his pretty little face buried in your neck. Thousands. And I answer to those widows. I carry the lives of those dead men. You cannot ask me to bend the world for your plaything."

"I'm not asking," Zechs answered sharply. He had to find another way.

"But surely you see my point on the matter," Treize pressed.

"Chacun son truc."

Treize laughed. "Comme tu veux! I knew you'd like that book. French idioms!"

A small smile ghosted over Zechs features. He had successfully distracted the man by reminding him of Christmas two years ago.

"I'm not a monster, Zechs," Treize said as he sobered. "And don't doubt if this were reversed, he'd have snapped your neck in a moment. Of course, the pilots are not schooled in the art of war. Yes, they did not go to fine academies and study strategy or ethics. But how much does it really afford them? The fact that we were both born on silver spoons does not mean we owe coup de main savages our company. I think your imperialistic guilt is somewhat misplaced."

The monitor in Zech's pocket started beeping, he shifted the boy in his lap a bit to fish it out. It beeped that the boy's blood pressure was dropping; his heart beat a little slow. Instinctively he grabbed for Duo's wrist, annoyed when his nimble fingers stumbled into a cast.

"Ah, so you've got him banded," Treize answered.

"02" Zechs tried, nudging Duo's face with his own. The boy was limp.

"Did he pass out?" Treize asked, still seated comfortably with his legs crossed. "Do you drug him?"

"_No._" Zechs snapped, reaching his hand up to Duo's face, slapping him lightly.

"Blood sugar?"

Zechs frowned.

"You don't know the last time you fed him?"

"I don't know the last time he _ate_. Maybe yesterday."

"It's 18:00." Treize responded tersely. "If you're trying to be on par with my prison guards, then _well done, monsieur._"

The numbers were jumping around a bit on the monitor. He wanted to reset the band, let it take a new reading from scratch. The blond struggled to conceal his alarm, hesitating only a moment before sliding his hand down the waist of Duo's pajama pants, moving his hand down between Duo's thighs, pushing them apart so he could find the reset switch. With the other hand, he moved to the reset switch on the monitor, (to reboot the band, the command had to come simultaneously from monitor as well after entering the authorization numbers.) These security measures were not a hassle until you have a passed out boy across your lap and a Colonel watching your every move.

He found the switch on the band and the monitor beeped loudly three times, signaling the system was rebooting now. It snapped Duo back to the present and he shook as his eyes flew open, whimpering as he felt the hand between his thighs. He tried to twist off of the blondes lap, disoriented. Zechs dropped the monitor to the carpeted ground, to free up an arm, wrapping it around Duo tightly.

"Be still. _Breathe_." The boy blinked rapidly as he gasped to pull in breathes. "I was resetting your band." The blonde cautiously and gently, pulled his hand out from Duo's pajamas.

"Poor show, _dear pilot_. Napping in front of a Colonel? My poor lieutenant all up in arms. How very interesting. Give him a tea cookie Zechs."

The blonde complied, pushing it into Duo's limp fingers.

"Your blood sugar is low. You'll feel better if you.."

Duo shook his head weakly. If he ate anything, he'd vomit from nerves.

"You don't have a _choice_." The Merquise had a voice of low steel and even lower and quieter. "Please just _try_."

The voice was barely a whisper, but Treize had sharp ears.

The boy brought the cookie to his mouth, chewing on it slowly.

It made for a ridiculous scene. Two men dressed to the nines in military best, a small androgynous looking boy in a t-shirt and pajama bottoms with casts on both his wrists and ankles, sprawled across the lap of the lieutenant, pale as a ghost and half-heartedly eating a cookie.

"I'll take my leave of you now. Something about this troubles me, dear friend. Do take care. I'm not the monster you think me as. But I will be watching."

With that, Treize uncrossed his legs and stood, "I thank you for your time and the tea."

Zechs nodded, also standing, holding Duo in his arms.

He had his wits about him enough, to move towards his own chambers.

The Merquise moved swiftly through his office and into his bedroom, setting the boy down gently on his own bed. He left the room, snatching the commlink he had left on his desk, and the monitor in the living room he had left on the floor. Treize had left, and the door was closed.

Zechs asked the servants to bring him two roast beef sandwiches.

When he moved back to the bedroom, Duo was sitting up quietly, eyes trained on his lap.

"I ordered us some food," the Merquise said.

"I'm really not."

"You passed out." Zechs snapped.

"Sorry," Duo offered. It didn't sound sorry. It sounded empty. "So that's the dignity thing you were talking about?" His voice was weak and strained. "Ya coulda just said whore."

Zechs remained silent.

"Ya know that's what I fucking was already. It's not exactly a new assignment. It's not exactly something I need ta pretend." His voice strengthened with the acidic venom of self-loathing.

Zechs moved over to the bed, crouching down so he was low enough to reach Duo's eyes. "I was lying, Duo." Duo did not say anything. "I know you don't lie. And I don't lie to you. But out there, all of it. All of it was lies."

"It sounded pretty easy for ya," Duo answered bitterly.

"I'm good at lying." Zechs answered.

"And Treize?"

"He was lying too."

Duo shook his head, confused. "But the sentiment was so-"

"It was a game of semantics, Duo. Exercising wit and vernacular. The Colonel gets bored without me."

"But it sounded true, about terrorists and soldiers."

Zechs shook his head. "Duo, when they found you they didn't know what you were. You could've been an undercover solider, you could've been a civilian with anti-Oz sentiments. You could've been some black-ops arm of the Alliance Military for all they knew. The torture, as you said, was endemic. They didn't follow orders knowing you were a terrorist. And I doubt Treize gave them orders to torture prisoners. An order like that is beneath him." Zechs sighed. "He was just fucking around with me for your ears."

They were silent for a moment as Duo processed all of it. "And you hadda put your hands in my pants" the boy said finally.

"Well you passed out." Zechs pointed out, embarrassed. "And the numbers weren't coming in clearly to the monitor. How else was I supposed to reboot the band"

"Except to put your hand in my pants?" It was just a hint of it, but there was something in the delivery, a teasing tone. Duo was giving him a hard time.

"They are _my_ pants." Zechs answered, exasperated.

"You put your hand in your own pants that you let me wear. Effectively, putting your hand in my pants."

"I told you not to judge me for this."

"That's pretty hard." Duo answered dryly. "If I hadn't woken up I would've been handjobbed or some shit."

"Duo, _please_," Zechs tried, wishing he could close his ears. "I meant about everything."

"Well we were pretending." Duo answered delicately.

"I shoved you to your knees while grabbing your braid."

Duo frowned. He was too overwhelmed to truly think about the details. "I didn't like that."

"I didn't like doing it."

Zechs heard the apartment door open.

Duo stiffened, hearing it too.

"Sandwiches." Zechs answered, hurrying out of the room to thank the servants and grab the two plates. "I hope roast beef is ok."

Duo nodded. He handed the plate to the boy on his bed. It felt a little strange, Zechs would never bring food anywhere need his bed.

The braided boy hesitated and Zechs sat down on the bed next to him, content to eat a sandwich on the bed as well. There's a first time for most things.

"Do we have to do it again?" Duo asked.

Zechs nodded. "Until he leaves."

"When?"

"I don't know."

"You could just let me go ya know," Duo answered, with that he took his first bite of his sandwich.

"I know," Zechs answered, chewing thoughtfully, waiting until he swallowed to ask "Where would you go?"

"You can't know a magician's secrets." Duo answered around the food in his mouth. "You should know that, _magician._"

"Are you feeling better?" Zechs answered.

"Yea, less woozy and stuff." He took another bite. "I didn't mind that badly, your hand in my pants. It just caught me off guard to come to like that."

"What are you saying."

"Just what I said," Duo answered. " Us, war children without our fine academies keep things simple. I didn't mind your hand being there that badly."

"But you did mind."

"Naturally, but not badly."

Zechs was confused.

"Never fuckin' mind. For all your semantics, ya have a pretty hard time with English."

"Why would my hand be there again."

"Three guesses, mister wanna-be-dead-or-my-whore?"

Zechs winced at that.

"how did you say it? Mister your-diginity-or-your-life? Does that sound better?"

Zechs shrugged.

"I'm saying I don't like it. But it's not the worst thing. I can handle it. I'm not some fucked up rape victim or some shit. It just scared me to wake up like that. I did mind, but not badly. So in the future, keep that in mind. Like I said, saying what I mean."

And with that, the two of them finished their sandwiches in a comfortable silence.


	10. Chapter 10: A plus for Listening

Chapter 10: A+ for listening

Author: Gilly Wrist

My dear solitaire, how I wish I could send you a private message. I wish this new chapter could have found you sooner! I was work-traveling when your message found me and I struggled to recalculate my next couple days and figure out how to find a computer if it meant distracting and entertaining you for another half hour. I failed at that task.

I am a photojournalist. A lot of times the profession means traveling to devastated places in hopes of sharing the stories you find there with the world to meet a desired end: better informed public, not letting it happen again, send aid. It warms my heart that as part of the world, I can give _you_ a story instead, an be an aid to your thoughts, if only for a little while. I hope this next chapter finds you safely.

* * *

><p>The stones that dropped in the pit of my stomach during that first visit from Treize stayed lodge in my stomach during the remainder of my company with the Merquise. The Colonel's cool glittering eyes lingered over my thoughts and I was restless and irritable. It was hard to be disarmed and crippled in front of that man.<p>

We got to know eachother, the Merquise and I, but it was always guarded, always shadowed by calculating eyes of the Colonel. It was hard to relax when your senses screamed you were in grave danger.

It is hard to relax in the lion's den.

The man you know now had tried his hardest, I think, to ease my fears. I had a feeling at the time, looking back now there is no denying. I do not know why he took the time to do these things except to say I never knew all of him. This seeming one way and being another. I'm not sure what the other was. I do not even know if he knew. But whatever it was, I was mostly grateful for its company.

* * *

><p>The Merquise had papers to attend to. The Merquise always had papers to attend to. This time, the papers also served to keep his mind on task and present instead of lingering over his time with Treize. As he reached the bottom of each document however, and his eyes briefly moved over the blank white of the page margin his ears would burn as the man's words whispered in his ears. <em>I'll certainly let you fuck your terrorist<em>. Zechs groaned against his thoughts. He had too much control over himself to utter an audible sound, but inside his head, there was certainly a loud groan. His eyes were beginning to hurt.

He could also hear Duo huffing in the man's bedroom.

After the sandwiches, Zechs had quickly retired to his office, leaving the boy behind. He did not know what else to do, so he politely removed himself from the situation.

"Duo," the man finally called out plaintively.

The boy appeared in the doorway, staring at him.

Zechs said nothing, putting down the paper in his hand, he waited, arching an eyebrow in question.

"WHAT," Duo answered, clearly agitated.

And to this, Zechs still said nothing.

"I'm mad," Duo said finally. "Annoyed…I feel manic and shit."

"You're bored," Zechs finally said, sounding thoughtful.

"Probably," Duo snapped. "It's not like anything about being captive is _stimulating_."

"What do you like to do?" Zechs answered.

"Not be a prisoner." Duo deadpanned.

"Nice try." Zechs replied.

"Break shit."

"That does not sound very appealing." Zechs tried.

"Not be in these damn casts."

"They'll be off soon."

"I'll be dead first," Duo spat.

Zechs did not reply.

Duo banged his casted wrist against the doorframe in frustration.

And still Zechs did not reply.

Duo scowled as the pain shook down his arm.

"Do you know what this tells me?" He waited patiently.

"Are you gonna spit it out, _highness, _or should I wait for an official correspondence by courier?"

Zechs frowned, it must have been a coincidence but it distracted him. If the pilot found out he was a prince, things would get very complicated.

Zechs lolled his head to the side so his bangs fell out of his face, still taking his time. His reply was soft and neutral, "It tells me you are feeling better."

Duo was confused.

"Your energy is returning to you."

"That's. Great. News." Duo tried, the sarcasm was thick.

"What else?" Zechs pressed.

"What else WHAT, _master_."

At that, Zechs stood up and strode across the room.

Duo stood his ground, staring at him defiantly.

The man stopped a few feet from him.

"I may be your guardian for a time," The voice had dropped degrees in temperature and pitch. "But I am not your master and I do not believe I treat you as such," He paused, staring at Duo long and hard. "Unless I am gravely mistaken in my assessment of your treatment thus far."

The boy did not answer, looking away.

"I do not expect a gratitude I did not earn. And I did not, and do not, ask for your respect. But," And at this Zechs sounded tired. "In the small ways that I _can_ help you, I simply ask you to consider."

"Your _help_?" Duo retorted hotly. "Guess where I want you to put your fuckin'-"

"Duo," It was sharp and soft at the same time. "This time, now. This moment. You are not in danger. We are alone. I do not know what hells lie ahead, lie ahead of both of us. But in this moment, I can be of assistance if that is what you wish."

"This is some royal hospitality bullshit, I swear," Duo cursed. "Honestly man, ya wanna help me? Take the band off my leg, help me cut off the casts and throw me out a fuckin' window. You wanna help me?" Duo said, voice raising. "Why don't you fucking put a bullet in my head. Really. With your semantics and the French and shit. Yea, poor fucking us. Poor fucking pilots. No schooling and all. Ya know what I know in French? Coup de grace as in put the fuckin' dog DOWN man. Put me _down_." The boy was humming with frantic energy, tears springing to his eyes.

Zechs frowned, ducking his head to move his bangs back into his face. He had never quite seen someone like this. The boy was pulling himself into a panic attack.

"I can't." He choked. "Just fuckin' kill me. I can't," He shook his head, pulling in a gasp. "I can't fucking wait around for a knock on the door. Ya shoulda left me in that prison." He struggled to pull in another breath. "At least Heero does his work well." His body was twitching with manic energy.

Somewhere, it hurt the Merquise terribly to hear the truth in Duo's words. Somewhere, he agreed with the boy. It might have been better if Zechs had not interfered, if Zechs had noticed the shiny remarkable creature and had instead, in fairness, let him go, had let him get treated like all the other prisoners. The Colonel's taunting words were in his head again.

And then Zechs had a plan. If he kicked the boy into survival mode, he bet the pilot would pull himself back together.

The Merquise lunged forward, wrapping his arms around Duo hard, pulling him into a large bear hug, offering good resistance as Duo struggled to break free. When he let the boy go, Duo threw a casted punch that Zechs easily side-stepped, but the boy had managed to trip him. As Zechs fell to the floor he dragged the boy down with him, catching Duo's flailing punching hands and swatting them away. Rolling on top of Duo, seeking to pin him, he held the boy firm for a moment before allowing him again to break free. The boy cursed, panting and eyes furious as he dug a knee into Zech's groin.

The Merquise huffed in pain and tugged the boy's braid, twisting so Duo was straddling his chest. He was ready to end this.

Zechs reached up, catching both of Duo's forearms in each hand, staring up at the boy, still straddling his chest.

They were both breathing hard.

Duo's cheeks were pink with exertion and fury.

Zechs tried to school his face, it was easy, with the pain radiating out of his testicles.

The braided boy searched the man's eyes, confused and unsure of what exactly had just happened. His mouth was parted and shiny with spit.

"I need a cigarette." Zechs said, staring up at the boy and gradually releasing each of the boy's forearms.

Duo said nothing and kept his arms liimp, watching him carefully. The fight was over. His head was cocked to the side. "My side hurts. But I feel better."

Zechs kept his peace, content to let the boy stay straddling his chest.

The boy chewed on a hangnail, staring down at him. "Does your dick hurt?"

Zechs nodded, unable to keep a faint blush of embarrassment at the crude question from his cheeks.

Duo snorted, noticing. "Your Dick, your cock, your schlong, your captain winkie, your one-eyed monster, red rocket, frigger, wang, weiner, pee-pee, peek-a-boo, pecker, prick, uhh dong, did I say willie?" His eyes sparked, staring down at Zech's aghast face. "Or do you, _your highness_, call it your twig and berries"

Zechs sat up abruptly, which slid Duo down into his lap

"Heyy," Duo complained, trying to hold on by winding his legs around the man so he didn't fall but Zechs already had his arms around the boy, standing up, and taking the boy with him effortlessly. It left them in a weird position. Zechs standing with Duo in his arms, Duo's legs around the man's waist.

"Yes Duo," Zechs said, his face inches from the pilots, their eyes level for the first time. "My berries do hurt."

If this was the tsunami, both boys out on open water finally noticed. They could hear the roar of the wave.

"(I'm sorry)," Duo said with his eyes. He could tell Zechs had so readily forgiven him it was like he had never past judgment at all. He was just accepting and grateful for the boy's empathy. This moment probably lasted a split second, but it felt like a lot longer.

The man leaned over as he loosened his arms, and Duo unwound his legs.

"Ya wanna smoke?" Duo asked, waving the pack of reds, he was not entirely successful at biting back a smirk.

"You picked my pocket," Zechs said, and thought better of checking the rest of his pockets. He'd do that later, in privacy.

The boy shrugged, pushing a cigarette to his teeth. "I'm good at it."

Maybe that's a better question, Zechs thought. Not what he likes to do. He probably does not even know, never had the luxury of time to figure that out. He waited until they were outside.

It was overcast. The sky was black but there were no stars. It must have been around 22:00 by now. They were both quiet. The cool air seemed to further calm the boy.

"So lemme guess, I'm sleepin' in your bed."

Zechs sighed. That was not how he was going to approach that idea.

"Ding, ding," Duo answered, seeing the uncomfortable look on the man's face.

"It should only be for a couple days."

Duo shivered against the cold night air.

"What are you good at?" Zechs asked. "Poaching pockets for one."

Duo grinned. "Pilottin. Flying. Uh, while I'm pretty bad at writing I'm not so fucking bad at drawing."

"What do you draw?"

"Ya don't wanna know." The snicker in Duo's eyes told Zechs it was not a polite subject matter.

The boy decided to cut Zechs a break. "I'm also real good at takin stuff apart and putting it back together better. Fixing mechanical shit, really"

"Anything mechanical?" He was skimming through items in his apartments.

"I'm good with cars and motorcycles. But yea, pretty much any mechanical shit."

Zechs pursed his lips. "What about radios."

"What about em'. Transitters?"

"I had acquired an old crosley pup. It's antique-"

"Those were just AM right?"

Zechs stared at him.

"I used to hang around junkyards and salvage shit."

"It's antique" Zechs repeated "and everything might be fried in it. But if you wanted to have a look at it."

"No problem." Duo answered, taking a deep drag. "Yea, those things are fucking ancient."

"Antique. Earthian. It's bizarre to think you were acquainted with one on L2."

"Why, people lug their weird useless shit everywhere." Duo challenged, but there was no real force behind the words.

Zechs stared at the opaque dark sky for a comeback and found none.

The boy shivered, crossing his arms.

"You're cold." Zechs observed.

"Am not." Duo answered, uncrossing his arms so they fell limp at his side once more.

"I have to find more clothing that will fit you." The Merquise answered, frowning at the thought of the boy only wearing pajamas and t-shirts.

Duo shrugged.

"_I _am cold." Zechs said finally, opening the door and holding it for Duo to move through first. Manners.

The boy curtseyed to mock him, before brushing past and Zechs used that distraction to try and knock the cigarette pack out of Duo's fingers.

The pack of cigarettes skirted along the carpeted floor, Zechs moved for it but Duo kicked it away, Zechs tried to trip him, but the boy was too quick, dancing around the man's move. In one swift move the boy dug his toes under the pack and kicked it up so it sailed towards his palm. The pack was back in the boy's hand once more.

"You are good at keep-away." Zechs muttered.

"Played alotta foot ball in back alleys with whatever we could find," Duo answered.

"What are you bad at?" The Merquise mused.

"Playing hard to get," Duo snickered, blushing at the arched eyebrow of the man. He had not meant it that way. "I get caught all the time. I'm easy to catch. The other pilots almost never-"

"Not easy to keep, I suspect." Zechs interrupted, seeking to ease the shame.

"I'm good at keep-away." Duo said, trying to move back to an earlier moment. It was too late. He felt fucked. "And saying what I mean. Everything with you is like. Double or triple meaning or something. Doesn't all that brain power give you a head ache?"

"It keeps everything interesting."

Duo frowned, eyes darkening at the flippant response. "I half suspect that's why this whole damn thing happened. The fucking war. A few bored spoiled guys trying to get their nuts off with semantics and ethics. Trying to use that fine, _fine_ academy education. Trying to make Daddy proud by fucking the whole world in its fucking-"

"My father's dead." Zechs answered, unsure of just what he said to bring about the quick change in mood.

"Mommy dearest then." Duo snapped.

The Merquise stiffened. The boy would give him no quarter.

"My mother's also dead."

Duo said nothing.

"Like you Duo, I am also an orphan."

The boy threw the pack of cigarettes at him. "You are nothing. fucking. like me."

Nothing worked on the boy. Not psychology, not semantics, he was a rare creature. Zechs was stunned. The boy was immune to his silver tongue. Zechs did not move as the pack struck him in the face and bounced to the floor. It was humiliating, not to duck, to watch the box fly swiftly into his cheekbone. He would not stoop so slow as to bend down and pick it up. It sat there where it fell, on the fine carpeted floor. The rug was an Isfahan. In the bedroom he had a Tabriz. It was a ridiculous piece of information to enter his head at a time like this. The Merquise shook his head to clear his thoughts.

"How are we so different, you and I?" His voice was weary and sad. He glanced at the pack of Reds on the floor, stooping down to pick them up. It felt incredibly undignified.

The boy watched and his dark blue eyes were a bit softer by the time Zechs met them again.

"You _suck_ at keepaway." Duo offered and it sounded like a condolence. "You're probably real hard to get. I bet ya dated a real pretty girl from a sister school of some all boys prep academy. I bet ya played a varsity sport or maybe no one wanted you to ever take a real tumble so instead you did something cleaner like fencing. Probably won a lot of matches."

Zechs grinned, grateful Duo was missing the mark. The words still smarted a little, that he came across like that. But there was a time that he had tried very hard to cultivate that appearance. "I _seem_ that way, yes." Zechs agreed, noticing that Duo's voice was getting lighter. The boy was moving away from his dark mood. It was a good thing.

"You _seem_ like a prick." Duo responded.

"But I might not be?"

The boy nodded. "You probably sucked at fencing too."

"I suck an awful lot for a boy who dated a pretty girl from a sister school."

"This is my fantasy," Duo answered. "Ya could be secretly sucking off the whole fencing team if that's your contribution to the rendition of your history"

They were bantering too fast for Zechs to look aghast.

"Giving those lefty beejs to a couple professors for higher marks."

The Merquise's cerulean eyes widened.

"I'm just kidding. That misplaced sense of whatever the fuck consumes your brain would never have allowed you to _kneel _under a teacher's desk."

Zechs laughed. It sounded almost strange because it was so deep in his gut. It was not a chuckle or a snicker or whatever noise deemed appropriate in recognition of 'your remark was clever'. The Merquise was beyond simply amused (a rarity) he was actually laughing, a laugh that bubbled with energy, a laugh that was carefree.

"And what of your history?" Zechs said, finally catching his breath. "If I was uh" he hesitated, not wanting to stumble over the word, "sucking off the fencing team." The boy's casual language was still foreign to him, but he was trying.

Duo grinned. "Rottin' in some alley with the rats, dreamin' of being on a fencing team so I could've bragged about getting sucked off by a future lieutenant of OZ"

"It's all about fellatio with you." Zechs answered. And Duo positively snorted at the use of that word.

"The whole world" Duo said, waving his arm. "Everything. Politics, war, movies, media. Everything can be boiled down to suckin' dick. Wanting to suck dick, or wanting to get your dick sucked."

"'A few bored spoiled guys trying to get their nuts off.'" Zechs quoted.

"A+ for listening," Duo quipped.

"And I did not even have to crawl under your desk."

Duo shook his head, fighting back a smile. He was finally lost for words.

"Come." Zechs said, tossing the pack in Duo's direction. The boy caught it effortlessly. "One more smoke and I must get back to my work."

The Merquise grabbed the throw blanket off the couch, draping it around the boy's shoulders.

Duo wondered if the kings of old felt like this as he walked forward and the blanket swished behind him.


	11. Chapter 11: Now and No Dice

Chapter 11: Now and No Dice

Author: Gilly Wrist

To all my reviewers: I thank you! Your words challenge and encourage and suggest more than you know. They are received with gratitude.

Anything you ever want to ask about photojournalism, snowdragonct, I am at your service.

Cewo I am glad they are how you picture them! I love when that happens, when you can read and just be like YES...THAT's how I see him.

Karina, I don't hear twig and berries ever, but picturing Duo teasing Zechs in this way was too tempting to resist.

My thoughts are with you in Alabama, Solitaire.

* * *

><p>It's more nuanced than that. Everything is, when you get down to it. When you take the time and unravel the thread, the large knot of yarn that makes up a history, a narrative, a soul. It's the nuance, most people miss. Few people think in simple terms, the ones that do, I think I've had the grace of largely avoiding. There are very few people that live in a world of "My favorite color is blue" and with it the implications of clothing, cars, flavor, and furniture. It's a subtle mix of things. Things slip into focus and then back out of view. Red mittens and cream curtains. Peanut butter icecream unless they got those vanilla and chocolate twists. Black coffee unless the wind blows like autumn. Then I might go for some cider, yes even in the Spring a day can feel like Fall.<p>

And there are sometimes happy Spring days during The Fall.

Or at least I can pretend.

It is perceptions. Most people have selective perceptions.

I was taught to observe, to take in fact and the nuanced appendixes. And that's why I hated exercises in semantics, I still do. They fuck up all my files.

And that's why simple statements are dangerous when they aren't necessarily true.

And nothing is necessarily true when I got right down to it anyway.

Everything is also not necessarily false either.

And again, that makes semantics and flat out lies nearly impossible to work with.

But for myself, now and then, the daydreams, the pretend, those selective perceptions, they kept me, I don't even know, somewhere findable. I could identify myself inside all those things.

I don't lie. But I don't live in the truth.

We both did not live in the truth.

* * *

><p>Duo had disappeared in the bedroom.<p>

The Merquise put fresh water in the tea kettle and moved it onto the stove before retrieving the old crosley pup radio from its place on one of the many bookshelves in his office. It was a good book end. He was not interested in seeing it work as much as he was interested in being a good host.

It did not sit well somewhere that his company had been so hostile earlier. The man shook the thoughts out of his head but the word 'prisoner' still did not sit right. _Terrorist, terrorist, terrorist_, he tried. The word felt dead and flat, it did not reverberate or echo at all. It was a vacuum, like outer space.

"It might be hopeless," Zechs offered, handing the radio over to the boy.

"Alotta things still have a bit a life kickin' if you know the right words."

Zechs rolled his eyes.

"Like abracadabra." Duo said, turning the heavy old metal box around in his hands. "Or YaStupidFuckin."

The man did not bother to raise a brow. Instead it was just a slow steady inhale. He was trying to stop resisting.

Duo shrugged, "That works on cars sometimes. Cursin' and kickin' until ya can cajole her into purrin' back to life." He looked at the screws. "I need some tools." He whistled. "Damn this thing's a paper weight." He looked up at the man. "What can I do to her?"

Zechs hesitated. Part of him wanted to say, whatever. That the antique, while expensive, was useless. That while expensive, he did not care. But he held his tongue on that thought. He figured it would be more of challenge to act like it was of value to him. "You may take it apart and have a look around, but if you can't fix it, I wish it returned in the condition I'm giving it to you: assembled and whole."

Duo shook his head but his eyes seemed to appreciate the challenge. If he was aware of the pretense, he did not let on. "Guys like you and their expensive old junk. Tools?"

Zechs nodded and walked out of the room, returning with screwdrivers and a voltage meter from his desk and closest respectively. "I wish to not regret this," the Merquise said.

Duo said nothing.

"Duo." Zechs said.

The boy scowled. His voice was tired and serious. He sounded worn down. He said finally, "I'm not escapin' with a screwdriver man." His eyes held the challenge _I do not lie_. A lot of all of this was really very pathetic.

The Merquise nodded, "I'll be in the office. I-"

He saw the look of question in the boy's eyes.

"I'm making some tea." Zechs finished finally, lamely. He knew that was not the question. "You may retire when you wish. On the bed please."

Duo snorted but the bedroom did include a canapé, an armchair, and a duchesse brisée. (To Duo at the time, two expensive couch-chairs and a normal chair). It was a rather large room either way. "I don't really sleep." Zechs finished.

"Prefer a side?" Duo answered. If there was a word for at once bright and acidic, like a lemon vinegar salad dressing, that was Duo's tone.

"No." Zechs answered. His tone was soft.

Duo had his eyes on the crosley pup, and did not answer. The Merquise left the room.

The boy fought off the rising tide of anxiety again, sitting on the carpeted floor and spreading out the tools. He stared past the various screwdrivers, looking at the designs of blues and creams in the rug. It reminded him of Quatre somehow, maybe the luxury, the Persian design, or the boy's eyes. He was too tired to decide which; the thought was of no interest to him. He was reminded of Quatre, it hurt somewhere, and he turned his attention back to the tools and task at hand.

He was not an idiot. He knew the radio was a ruse. But he'd let it help him. He'd let it quiet his thoughts. It's all he could do. Fight or surrender. Fight and surrender. Surrender and fight and kick and scream or yield. He had to do a little of both. And so, he had accepted the Merquise's distraction. And he did feel better, with tools in his hands. He felt free. It was a game of pretend. And oh how they were both so very good at it.

And then his mood fell.

The room was too quiet.

It was starting again.

And Duo fell.

And in The Fall, his thoughts began to grow.

'So _very _good at pretend', his inner monologue began. It was a low hissing growl. (To describe the monologue in the first any further would be crude and thick and schizo, the third at least has some sense to it, a summary at least.)

It was a matter of selective perception. It was coping. His brain sometimes coped so fast it was hard to keep up. Sometimes, certain times, his brain rationalized and synthesized (and cynic-ized) before he could even internalize the thought. It felt that way, anyway.

Sometimes certain things were scooped up before he could even feel them at all. His nature was fast to pretend. He pretended often as a gutter rat, often as a foster kid, often at the church, with G, with the pilots, in prison, out of prison, in public. Often. Always. Not really always, but very often.

It was like daydreams. He knew he was distracting himself. It was not lying because it was just his head and his thoughts. There was not much shame in pretending to be a free man, in pretending to own his own junkyard as he twisted open the final screw on the crosley pup.

He did not like seeing things as they are. He'd see them black for sure. Black humor, sarcasm, hell yea. He'd see the whole world as hell. There was strength to that. He felt it harden his eyes. He'd see others back off.

And he could see things as a fuckin' circus too. One big fucking joke, a clown exploding out of some canon and over the stars. Are you entertained? You paid for the best show on earth, _sucker_. And Duo was not a sad clown, he was a smart clown. He was a clown with self-interest. A clown when humor could be strength.

But he'd be damned if he saw things as they were. He couldn't. He couldn't see the casts and the oriental rug and the military suit of the Merquise and not lose it. He could not accept a cup of tea and not throw the scalding liquid in the man's face.

He was a devil. He was a monster. On missions with Heero, he'd tell a soldier he would not be hurt. He'd sweet talk and sucker and seduce a guard into giving up keycodes or barcodes or passcodes or passwords. Most men will give up a lot of avoid pain. Most men will give up the world for their life. And then Heero would snap their necks from behind or pull a trigger at their temple. Quickly. Painless.

It was not a lie.

They never even looked surprised. They did not die with surprise on their face. They just fell asleep real fast.

Duo could put that in his eyes. The cold simplicity. The honesty of "this is your death, but you will be spared some things. It will be quick, but you _are_ going." Inevitable.

Like carcrashes, roadkill, and litter. Unavoidable and impossible to prevent.

It just was.

He could not stay long in that world. He'd bring it into his eyes when he needed to. He'd bring it into his eyes and people would look away. He could summon death in his black pupils. The stillness, the stiffening. The question is always "is it now?" and to this Duo's eyes answered "_now._" There was no other answer. Death always happened now. The how was with mercy. Always, always, mercy. But he found that few cared.

It was never a how, always just _now?_ Yes now. Right now. No one seemed able to get past that first question.

No one's ready but death is not a class assignment. There is no judgment.

Now / how: with mercy / and after? honored. Respected with nightmares in the dark. Remembered in the whimpers of a fitful sleep for a young terrorist boy.

The boy squeezed his eyes shut, looking away from the dark space inside the radio. His hands were shaking and his grip on the metal, white knuckled.

He had to pretend.

He'd be a rabid fucking animal otherwise. A wounded lone coyote yelping and howling and snarling at the moon, starved but surviving on the carrion even the crows had long abandoned. Starved for a nuzzle or a lick or a sprint across a meadow. Starved for other warm furry bodies.

Fuck did he ever need a dog.

Duo squinted as he stared back inside the dark metal box of the radio. It was rusty but the parts seemed alright. He took it all apart to figure it out. The boy was chewing the inside of his cheek apart. The clock was ticking now. He was feeling too healthy to play prisoner.

That was the problem.

The boy was physically wounded still, but he was regaining himself enough to feel like a maniac. His training would not keep him in this lion's den. He gripped the screwdriver hard. He was starting to feel too healthy to linger.

His soul wounds were showing their face.

He reached down to his pajama pants, rubbing the band on his thigh. He sighed. Something about escape felt dishonest. It was disconcerting. He had never felt that way before.

The boy shoved the heel of his hand into his eye socket, rubbing his eye hard. His eyes were tired and started to burn. There were too many reasons why it felt dishonest. Why now escape felt different.

Primary among these reasons: he was on his own. He had no mission, no team, no plan.

Second among these reasons (when he felt like being honest): he had set the trap on himself. By himself, on his own, without a single order, he decided take down a heavily fortified leo factory. He had wanted to die in that fight or he had wanted to mockingly prove Heero's words true. If they thought he was some shit gutter rat that always got caught then he was not going to stand in their way.

The assessment was true. He knew he was much more than that, sure. But he was some punk kid that got caught a lot. There was not a lie in that.

He shook his head, he could never understand why other people died so easily but for him death was so evasive. A lot of people just die. Dead without final words and all that. But not him, he survives bullets and firefights and explosions and torture. Not him, no, for him, Son of Death, Death gives him choices. How did Zechs phrase it? Dignity or life.

He was not complaining. He just could not understand why no one else ever got a choice like that.

Guilty. The word was just guilty. He felt guilty for a lot of shit.

And he could not put serious effort into thoughts of escape because of that guilt.

He sighed, the aluminum was a bit corroded and the radio appeared to be missing an antenna lug knob. Duo frowned. He could try re-soldering the filament pins of the tube. He did not have a plan B. Trying to build a tube or find a working WD12 sounded equally unlikely.

He got on his feet, padding across the floor to the doorway of the office. Zechs was slumped over his desk. He was wearing glasses. Duo watched as the man paused and set down the papers, bringing the steaming small cup to his mouth. A proper cup of six ounces. After he set the cup down on the saucer, his eyes glanced over at Duo.

"If this was mine," Duo said. "I'd try re-soldering the filament pins of the tube." He bit back a yawn, "Although the 01A's were not really subject to super high filament currents, they were made like shit and the pins often corroded internally. Once the connection to the pins gets lost-No dice."

Zechs nodded.

"Later made tubes, I think the 26 and the 45? Had the problem even worse. So bad I'd never junk a tube like this for an open filament until I tried the re-soldering first. So you're lucky. But ya aint lucky enough."

"Thank you, Duo."

"So you can tell your mechanics, find me a soldering gun, or you can scrap it."

The game was up. With the look in Duo's eyes, Zechs knew better than to try and prove the antique had any value to him beside book-end.

They both knew it was pretend then. But it did not matter, it was still good for the boy to stay busy and distracted. And Zechs felt better the less Duo fell into the category of prisoner.

"I'll try and find you a soldering gun." Zechs said, turning his attention back to his papers.

Duo had not been expecting that. He had not been that at all.

It must have been midnight.

As he thought over the day he felt like he was looking over a gorge. He had spent the last night awake on the floor. Zechs braided his hair. He napped. Treize. Sandwiches. Cigarettes. More cigarettes. And he took apart a radio. The day stretched on forever. He felt so very thin. Like the plastic wrap on those packs of smoke. So thin they are clear plastic.

The boy ran his fingers over the braid, feeling down the careful plait of hair.

He could only hope tomorrow would fly faster than this.


	12. Chapter 12: Allegedly

Chapter 12: Allegedly

Author: Gilly Wrist

Ohh reviewers thank you! You tempt me to write faster so all of us can find out where this is going (I have an idea perhaps) and how its going to get there (no idea.)

I am sort've free-writing and discovering that like you. I hope you continue to enjoy!

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><p>I've got some explaining to do, I think. I suppose it is off-topic. But context is never a bad thing. It's certainly not the worst thing. It's important for appendixes.<p>

It's not like it matters, the context is more candor and honesty for him. But he is not hearing any of this. So I guess it's more, my confession without apology.

Forgive me Father, for I have sinned? No thanks. Father Maxwell's already dead, and he's been forgiving my sins a long time, so there's no need for me to ask politely.

It's important to set the record straight though. Or that's probably wrong, it's important to point you down the crooked path I positively zigzagged. I know I've been talking in some riddles but my mind does that, when I can't say what I mean. I riddle around it, I wriggle around it, or I run and don't tell you at all.

When you are living in a lie, it's easy to talk some lies.

That's a problem because I really don't lie. If I tell you something with the look of 'I'm not lying.' I am not lying. Lies of omission are a different matter entirely.

Everything turns into shades of gray sometimes. And for me, at the time, and certainly now, a lot of things were pretty damn relative.

I was feeling better after a good night's sleep, for sure. But better meant cognizant thoughts, meant thinking back on the past few days, and sorting things out. The truth and all the pleasant little fictions. I had to discern my situation and status and untangle them from the bizarre new universe of living beside the Merquise.

* * *

><p>When Duo woke up the man was gone as if he had never been. Duo was not sure, in fact, if the man had spent the night in the same bed. The boy had done a good enough job tossing and turning that it looked like pack of dogs could have slept on the bed. The boy frowned around a yawn, sniffing the air around him. He pressed his nose to the other pillow on the bed. It smelled neutral and clean. No trace of the man's faint aftershave.<p>

Duo bit at his fingers, attacking a hangnail with his teeth. He was getting better. He felt better. The man could not have come to the bed, and crawled in and slept beside him without Duo waking up. He relaxed at that thought. Of that he was sure then. The man could not have slept there because Duo would have known.

The boy stared up at the ceiling before pushing the covers back; the door to the bedroom was still open as it had been last night. There was a hand penned note on the man's desk.

"Breakfast in the kitchen. Z"

Duo scowled. The Z winded around with the flourish of an aristocrat. The scowl was not at the flourish as much as the danger. The note was dangerous. Duo shook his head, exhaling against the hunger pain in his belly at the thought of food.

If he dwelled on the thought any longer he'd be livid. He never liked going more than days between missions; his energy would turn anxious, frantic really. And living with Zechs was living down the rabbit hole of pretend. If Treize or anyone, _anyone_ saw that… The risk is just so unnecessary.

Yea, he had always thought Heero took things a little far. Over the comms after a mission it would be one rendezvous (RV) point after another. Go here, get in the car, ditch the car, go on foot, get on motor bike, leave bike at foot of trail, back on foot, backtrack, sidetrack. It was tedious. (Very tedious when he was bleeding.) 'And he wonders why I fuck things up.' Duo thought darkly. 'Then it never gets to the RV stage. It's fuckin' improvise.' He was good at improvise. Heero hated it.

Heero also hated when Duo _would not_ maintain radio silence while getting eaten alive by the mosquitoes in the woods. Duo smirked. What Heero hated even more, was when Duo _would_ maintain radio silence when it was imperative he did not, like during a talk-through.

The boy moved over to the kitchen, scanning the bare marble counters. He opened the fridge to find a sterling silver tray with a bowl of cereal and a pitcher of milk. Duo grabbed the bowl and milk off the ornate metal tray, preferring to eat leaning against the countertop than take the whole thing to the table in the other room.

Duo grinned as he chomped around the cheerios, thoughts back on missions and Heero. The pilots ragged on him for never shutting up, sure. But the other pilots never knew him like Heero. Yea, when he was in those safe houses he'd get frantic. He'd sing away his nightmares or whistle to break Wufei's mediations. But he did not work with them. When he'd work recovery or recon he would only work with Heero on the comms. Trowa had once, Duo winced. And never had to again. Duo shook his head.

He often wondered how after that only Heero got assigned to him. If Heero switched the orders or if someone else found out. Anyway, only Heero was assigned after. "My _Houston_" Duo had said once. The analogy lost as always.

If Heero snapped at him to shut up, 01 would get it right back at him tenfold. Sometimes it was not Duo's fault. Sometimes he really did need to remove the wires and go it alone. But sometimes, he'd remind the pilot just how silent he could be. One time, Duo went so far that Heero met him at an early RV point (Yes, 01 broke his own damn protocol) to choke him. The boy shook his head; Heero's anger on that day had been beyond disarmament.

Duo sighed into his cereal, struggling to avoid the cat and mouse games in his memory. The disarmament of Heero Yuy. The boy scowled, scrunching his eyes closed. It was a game that went both ways. About 15 to 25% of the time, Duo was the cat licking the cream. The rest, failed attempts.

They'd both still kill each other, yea. And it had gotten pretty close numerous times. Most recently, Duo had set off some PTX-1 by remote, well aware Heero was still well inside blast zone. And likewise, Heero had brought down buildings well aware 02 was inside. It was even. They'd both kill each other or themselves to complete an objective.

Duo frowned. And that's why he did not understand any of this. He did not know where he fucked up. Or where the kill order came from. Heero had snarled at him once that he would've been long dead if he was not the best they had. It was words Duo could hardly believe at the time. But Heero does not lie to him. And Heero certainly does not bother with semantics.

Heero knew the boy did not take the sleeping pills G prescribed him. And sometimes, if Heero fucked him hard enough, he'd sleep like he was on them anyway. Duo pushed his bangs out of his face, bringing the bowl to his lips so he could swallow the rest of the milk.

The handlers somehow found out. And then Trowa or Quatre would ask him to screw around. Orders. Or rather, strong encouragement, for 'everyone's good.' Duo snorted. It was obvious that pair wanted each other instead. It felt better in his heart somewhere anyway. Screwing around helped him rationalize his emotions. If everyone screwed him he did not feel so gullible for cat and mousing with Heero like it would pay off. If everyone screwed him the occasional prison rapes were not the biggest deal.

Duo did not even know what pay off he was looking for.

Probably someone he could confidently call a friend. That's why being the target this time hurt so damn bad. How many fucks and teasing and tending and convincing and fixing and stitching and saving and blowing up and tracking down does it take to have a friend during wartime.

What he wanted he had already found in the fucking gutter. He wanted a friend to have his back above all others. Another Solo. That's it. Another "you can sleep next to me, kid." Another "I stole ya one too." A Solo that couldn't die. A Solo that was indestructible. And Heero fit quite nicely in the indestructible compartment.

The boy frowned, re-evaluating what he had told Zechs those couple days ago. He blushed with guilt as he remembered back on how close he had been to lying. Duo shook his head; he certainly insinuated a couple lies. He'd fled from his life only hours earlier, the safe house, the cat and mouse games skirting Death by Heero and Death by mission for _what_. He'd pulled two smiles, a couple gentle touches, and even fewer kisses from the other pilot for _what_.

Maxwell shrugged. It was not a big deal, lying under capture anyway. And that's what Zechs was. Right-hand man, Enemy. 02 and Mr. #2 sharing a bed, Duo rolled his eyes. Allegedly. Again, all the rabbit hole pretend. He sighed again. The only reason he cared about not lying goes back to the gutter too. Everyone was a thief. His word was all he had. To have it compromised was everything.

Where did that kill order come from? And why wasn't Heero breaking his damn protocol.

He burned with embarrassment as he thought back to the words he shared with the Merquise. He had been tortured within inches of his last breath and not so much as a snarl had slipped past his teeth. What was different this time? He could not understand why he shared his emotions with the man. Yea his words were a simple story riddled with statements that alluded towards lies, but the feelings had been true. He had felt like nothing but a screw at the time. He did not know what possessed him to share it though. Again, the fever. Still. He was better than that.

Duo frowned. Highly unprofessional and inadvisable. And despite jokes to the contrary, Duo was a gundam pilot. And while unlucky sometimes, he was a professional.

It was something about the man's ability to pretend. It was disarming somehow.

Duo had spent so much time trying to pull the others into this world. He'd help Quatre pound their canned bean rations to a pulp that failed miserably short of the hummus the blonde missed so fervently from home. He'd hide one of Heero's knives and then hide himself, pushing the begrudging boy into a game of hide and go seek. Fucking, that's another game of pretend.

That's what it was. For the first time, someone wanted to play _with_ him. He wanted to pretend and Zech's said, let's pretend. They played well together.

And Duo had been completely and utterly honest since that first talk.

He felt better, thinking over that.

It was tiresome, trying to weave a world for others all the time, trying to pull Heero into his own playful fantasies, trying to replicate a bit of an imagined home for Quatre. He did not know much about Trowa. Except that Trowa stopped fucking him after that botched mission. Maybe hearing a pilot get raped over the comm was not a fetish of his. Duo shrugged. To Heero it did not appear to be a turn off.

He did not know why Zechs did not sleep in his own bed last night. Duo scowled. Assumptions. Appendixes. Semantics. He did not have enough information. Maybe the man was called away. Maybe the man fell asleep at his desk. Maybe the man usually prefers to sleep on one of his weird couches. Or takes turns. Like sleeping musical chairs. That's what Duo would probably do if he had that many pieces of furniture to sleep on in one room. He had never played musical chairs. Cause he never went to a school when he was young. But he had heard a kid at the church explain it once. It sounded kinda dumb and mean. It sounded like kids playing gutter rat. The slowest always loses. If you are too slow there is no chair or no food or no blanket or you get caught. Unless you have a friend

Damn, did Duo wish he had a friend.

He wished he had a dog.

A dog, it always came back to that. Man's best friend is what everyone said. He was betting on it. That was a hope, if he outlived the war. He'd get one. He'd find one. A rescue or something. An orphan. Maybe name it Solo. Duo scrunched his nose. That would probably be a little strange. But if it was named Solo but he was able to take care of it and give it a blanket and food and stuff, some strange debt might be repaid. Duo shook his head. He could not name a future dog, Solo. It's just kind of weird. And it would kill like hell, when Dog-Solo died.

The braided boy shook his head wearily and warily. No. He did not want a dog.

And he did not want to outlive the war much either.

Damn, he really thought him and Heero were getting somewhere. A couple weeks ago they had even fell asleep together. It was only for 20 minutes after a particularly strenuous session, but after they collapsed on top of each other, sweaty and naked, he had somehow slipped past the pilot's defenses with the help of post-coital bliss and Heero Yuy _fell asleep_. Duo hardly dared to breathe, or move, or blink. Until finally his own eyes got too heavy, and the weight of the boy on top of him too warm and comforting, and then he was out. (before waking up with a hand on his throat, but the end of the nap is inconsequential.)

It sounded small perhaps, but it was a legendary moment. It was a mistake on Heero's part. And yes, 'perfect soldiers' make mistakes. But that was not it. It was legendary because something inside Heero had to be down. Something inside him had to have been breached. Shinigami had somehow slipped past some programming somehow. It was remarkable victory. A sliver of intrinsic trust.

The news of his own impending assassination a week ago, a rather rude defeat.

But that note was a fucking problem. Zechs should not have left one. He should know better. This room felt like a parallel dimension out of space and time but it was a ruse. It was pretend. He was in grave danger. But it felt like a weak excuse.

The boy looked down at his empty cereal bowl. Damn.


	13. Chapter 13: Crest

Chapter 13: Crest

Author: Gilly Wrist

Reviews are most welcome!

snowdragonct: It is very hard to do what you have to do while considering obligations. There is absolutely a relationship between Duo and Heero. Of that you can be sure. I was born and raised on 1x2 my dear. And I think the overall vibe of this story is that many things are not as they first appear. ( I fear I may have scared off many with the first few chapters as a result haha)

Ni-Chan: How brilliant that English is not your first language and you are stumbling through my catastrophic and liberal use of the English language. I am humbled and honored by your efforts. Duo is telling the story as a narrative and since he is speaking this story, I am more concerned with his cadence and his rhythm and how he is deciding to say what he says. Because of this, there are many incomplete sentences. I put periods when Duo finishes his thought-sentence or when he pauses or draws a breath. I believe that few people speak in complete sentences inside their own thoughts or while they tell a story. I do use some words outside of their normal context but if one is troubling you (like a riddle) send a message to my inbox and I will explain it specifically and further. Being a photojournalist allows me to write this character. (What a wonderful observation!) I've worked around death and slaughterhouses. I've also worked around the light.

Karina: Yes, he is making himself more and more displaced. He cannot quite get his bearings on his circumstance, on Zechs, on reality, and on his future. (By the end of this chapter, he might have a better grasp?)

Solitaire: I do enjoy cat and mouse. I am so happy to hear you still have a home! My thoughts have been with you as I follow the devastation in the south. Someday you will see my photography. I will post my website here, before the end. There is a reason, and of this I am sure, that both of us have connected across space and time. The profession that allows me to see also fills me with guilt and shame sometimes. To help you backwards from my normal capacity, to give you a story instead of asking one from you during your hardship, has touched on a wound (with a healing light) that I still do not yet have a name for. And for this I am most grateful.

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><p>I remember hearing a story once. Or overheard a story more like. From someone in the Sweepers. It could have been a fairy tale.<p>

It was during one of those odd hurry up and wait moments. Those minutes of the battle is happening soon, soon, soon, and then the minutes that feel like hours slipping into actual hours that feel like days. Hurry up and get on line. Hurry up and wait, to fight, for life, for death.

It's a nervous time, and in those times, soldiers would be the men they are. And men would do what they do. A leader would assess tactical plans. A musician would nervously tap his foot in rhythm. A healer would soothe lingering conditions among the men 'want me to re-bandage that arm?' And a storyteller would tell a story.

I was listening to such a storyteller.

The man mentioned, long ago, before the colonies and the suits, that there were great wars that consumed all of earth. And on a holiday, Christmas or something, during one of these Great Wars, in the winter, soldiers on opposite sides drank on the same side. And the next day resumed their slaughter of each other. At the time when it first reached my ears, my eyes had shut in a sort of slow-motion wince. (My brain wrapped around how the story ends.) I did not understand. War tears all people apart.

And Yet Now, after it all, Now, with amazement, I focus on that story still. Only another part of it strikes me, not the end, (sometimes there is no good end), but how it could have possibly began at all. How they, the soldiers of One Side and the soldiers of Another Side, even came together at all. The Vodka? Their Gods? The Cold? Ethnic Similarities? What was more important to these soldiers than War?

Was it one thing? Or was it a slow-cooked stew of a lot of things that convince a soldier to cross the meridian.

To dissolve that meridian line really.

For a time, anyway. The parting of the mists.

I no longer linger over the rude awakening at dawn of roles and stations and politics. I know about that. Reality. The 'I am this.' The 'It is what it is.' The duty. The orders. The day.

It's HOW it could have happened in the first place. How one soldier, (it must have started surely with one?) stepped over that line in the first place with a bottle of vodka in hand. That's what keeps me awake. What stopped the war that one night. What soldier took that first step into pretend. That first step that all the other soldiers followed. A step towards humanity, towards holiday, a step outside of solider, a step outside of time and history itself.

Of course it had to end. The mists had to close back in. It's inevitable and that's ok.

But just _what_ had caused it to happen at all. What turned those soldiers back into men.

* * *

><p>Duo was still staring at the empty bowl when the door opened.<p>

The Merquise shut the door and took two paces forward before standing still and simply watching him.

Duo said nothing.

"Did you sleep well," Zechs said finally, formally, curtly.

"You've gotta be kidding me." Duo answered.

Zechs gave a small nod like he accepted that response and started moving once more towards his office.

Duo scowled as he dropped the cereal bowl in the sink. He was bored. He followed Zechs into the office, standing in the doorway. The man was sorting through a stack of papers.

"_You_ didn't sleep in _your bed_ last night." Duo said finally.

"No. I didn't." Zechs replied dismissively, eyes glued to the desk for the briefs he was looking for.

"So what's the fuckin' point then." The boy asked. He wanted some attention. He wanted a distraction.

Zechs put down the papers in his hands, hearing Duo's tone. He stared at the boy plaintively. "I was called away." The boy looked very angry. Zechs sighed, glancing down at his watch, wondering if he had time for a fight. The boy was certainly spoiling for one. He would make the time. "Did you want to cuddle?" The voice was neutral.

Angry eyes widened. Was that a joke? It did not sound snide or sarcastic. God, it was like some of Heero's comments. So vague and emotionless. Appendixes: pending.

Duo shifted on his feet with nervous energy. "Maybe I fucking did."

Zechs turned his eyes back to his papers. He had expected the pilot to try and hit him since the wrestling had sort of worked yesterday. He was not prepared for an answer in the affirmative.

"Maybe as the little spoon. I really had my sights on finding a big uh fork."

Zechs lifted his eyes from the papers. "I beg your pardon?"

"You know, big spoons, little spoons. Getting cuddled, the little spoon, how silverware nests in each other like right beside and then," Duo was starting to ramble. He was starting to feel manic again.

"I understand," Zechs said. "So why am I a big fork and not a big spoon?"

Duo laughed. "I dunno. You're all stiff and formal and shit. You don't look like a spoon."

"I more closely resemble a fork?" There was mirth in the man's eyes now.

The boy suddenly slammed his casted wrist against the doorframe. CRACK! "FUCKING STOP."

The man frowned. That was unexpected.

"Stop." The boy's voice was softer now. "Just stop with the fucking pretend. What _is_ this."

"You started it." Zechs answered, shrugging, his eyes were back on the briefs. He found the one he was looking for.

Duo's jaw dropped at the immature answer as he sputtered, "Me? You and the cuddling."

The Merquise shrugged again, looking up at him. "I was hoping you would get offended and fight. It seemed to make you feel better yesterday. You instead chose to play along."

The boy shook his head in disbelief. Something about this was so very patronizing. And yet it sounded so neutral. Almost empathetic.

"Could you not have escaped already?" the Merquise asked, eyes growing weary and sad. They were grave, like big gray ocean seas.

Duo had no answer. "I-"

"You have nowhere to go." Zechs answered.

And to this Duo still had no answer.

"To be assassinated on some street corner in a nameless city by Yuy."

The sound of the name stung. "I can take care of myself," the boy snapped. Duo had found his words.

"But after all of this. All the fighting. To be on the run like a criminal."

"A _terrorist_," Duo answered. The acid in the words could burn off a face.

"Do you think it's what you deserve?" Zechs pressed.

"It's not a matter of that." The boy growled. "No one gets that. No one deserves anything. And you've gotta be kidding if you think you can control that. Fates." Duo exhaled. "Death."

"But don't you-" Zechs tried. "To a certain extent control that? You control who you kill. Who you spare. You spared those guards."

"And they fucking died anyway." The boy retorted.

"Yes, but not at your hand."

Duo said nothing.

Zechs was silent as well.

"It makes no difference." Duo said finally.

"It makes all the difference in the world."

"It was still cause of _me_," Duo spat. He was shaking.

"No," Zechs said. "You can't. Don't even start."

"I have for a long time."

"Then stop. You cannot add deaths that are not yours to carry."

Duo snorted, rolling his eyes.

"It's selfish."

Duo had not been expecting that.

"It's egotistical. You do not carry the deaths of those two men. To say that you do is a lie. When you meet your maker those names will not be on your list. It is an error, Duo."

"You are so sure." Duo said.

"Of this I know." Zechs answered.

"What _are_ you."

Zechs paused, thinking over his words carefully. When he spoke it was low but clear and steady. There was strength in the words, however softly uttered, "I hope one day, a friend."

"Release me." Duo challenged, suspicious of the words.

"You can escape." Zechs supplied. "But I will release you in a couple days time with a solution."

Duo swayed a bit, grabbing at the doorframe. "_What?_" He choked. His mind had forgotten to bring breath into his lungs.

"I have not really been pretending with you, Duo." Zechs said. "You haven't felt like a prisoner because you in fact are not one. You must simply play the part for a time."

"You've _gotta_ be joking. The…," It was too much. "The screwdrivers, you made me promise"

Zechs stared at him in all seriousness. "Well I did not want you to leave early at _my_ hand, but surely you had other ways."

"Please don't—don't fuck around like this." His voice was weak now, nauseous. It was too much to hope. It made no sense.

"I would not dream of it." The Merquise answered. "Have I ever been cruel to you, have I ever lied." He did not phrase those questions as questions. They were statements. "You may escape. Or you may trust me and give me two days."

"A friend," Duo echoed, unsure.

"You are not on the list of _my_ deaths," Zechs said. "I _will _help you."

"As a friend?" It was a whisper.

Zechs nodded.

"You risk too much." Duo said finally. His ears were buzzing. He desperately wanted to sit down but his heart was beating too fast to be stationary. It was better to sway on his feet. This sounded like a very bad idea.

"I have.." Zechs sighed at this, shaking his head. He tried another sentence, "I am in a great debt," he breathed, meeting Duo's eyes. "I have much to pay for."

"So you are going to be a saint for a terrorist?" It sounded doubtful. And yet somehow hopeful.

Zechs shook his head. "No. I'd just like to be your friend." He looked up at the boy. "Will you have me?"

"You _mean_ all of this." Duo asked.

Zechs did not answer. He knew Duo knew.

It was a lot of things. It was one thing. The parting of the mists. What that clearing revealed they could not yet describe. It was out of focus but It was almost grasp-able now. It was not in reach but It would be. Whatever It was. (Whatever It was, is certainly worth a capital letter.)

"Yea. Ok." Duo said. He could hear the roaring of one big tsunami. He forced a tight smile, biting back the bile in his throat at the gravity of all of this. "You're hired."

The wave had finally and utterly hit its crest.


	14. Chapter 14: No Chance in Hell

Chapter 14: No Chance in Hell

Author: Gilly Wrist

Reviews most welcome! Sorry it has been a little bit! I have been extremely busy with work!

Dyna: On Heero and the prison, yes, that is a good question to wonder about. As for the updates, you are quite welcome!

Karina: Agreed, poor boy can hardly stand.

Snowdragonct: You are on to something. You are on to something SO hard. Haha. I'm so pleased!

Enna: A lot can happen in two days. Of cuddles, I am not so sure.

Solitaire: Your faith warms my heart. And You have done more than you know, so feel delighted! As far as payback, I am the one indebted, my dear.

Lurk-ette: Agreed madam. As a writer I am usually a lyricist. I'm interested in the ear of a piece, and meticulous execution. If there was an appropriate word for anal over-thinking …( I will leave that thought hanging.) The nature, in my mind, of fan-fiction, stops me from making the sounds of each sentence a life and death issue. At the moment, I am so very happy I am writing again. It's an exercise in the opposite direction of the usual, so I relax a bit on myself. I'm glad you like the way they communicate. I've been absolutely delighting in the two of them interacting. I would be honored to hear a critique of some original work (which would be drafted and drafted and drafted) one day. I thank you so much for your words. Criticism is so helpful and dearly appreciated.

* * *

><p>There is hardly a difference between nitrogen and oxygen. I read about it in an electronics manual. We could live in a world of all oxygen. A single spark would ignite that whole world, sure, but we could survive in it. Nitrogen? Nothing. The difference? A single electron in the outer most orbit. 5-6.<p>

One damn electron.

I had a feeling we both wouldn't make it out alive.

There's only _one_ damn electron after all. I suppose that meant one of us had to come up short.

I always thought I'd be a goner.

Zechs, for reasons still unknown, had just befriended me.

Like I said earlier, he was as batshit crazy as I was, I guess.

I started reading a lot after it all. I wanted to know more about everything. Manuals sure, I always read those. But also the minds of men. Literature. Things I could've imagined him reading. If the rats could see me now…

I guess I did not know what to do with all the time on my hands.

I was looking for something. Something to sort all my thoughts. Something to make sense of back then, and later, and now. Something so I'd understand. I carried these couple days with me more than a lot of other shit. I had no real explanation as to why.

Why he did what he did. And why I gave a shit.

And why I'm speaking now, for the first time really, in defense of this man.

* * *

><p>"I need some air." Duo offered, backing away from the doorframe and towards the balcony. Things were starting to spin a bit. Not a lot, but it was disorienting still.<p>

Zechs nodded, standing up and moving towards the kitchen. He thought it best to give the boy some room.

The boy swayed as he opened the door and desperately sucked in fresher air. He did not bother to shut the door as he moved for the support of the railing; he gripped the sturdy metal hard. It was a bright, bright day. After yesterday's overcast it was too much. Not a cloud. Everything felt overly saturated, fake almost. Hyper real. Too green, too blue, too bright, the air too fresh.

What was most disorienting about all of this is he had not one single thought. His head was a buzzing dizzy void. His inner monologue was silent as if shot dead. Silent like nothing ever existed in the space between his ears, just a big empty void. It was far beyond speechless. He felt souless. He closed his eyes and focused on his breaths.

He heard Zechs approach and turned his head, watching the man carry two steaming cups of coffee. The Merquise set them down on the table, and sat down in one of the chairs, pressing a cigarette to his lips.

Duo struggled to calculate how long it takes to make a fresh pot of coffee so he knew how long he'd been out here, but his brain would not latch on to that desire and respond.

"I am glad the door was open." Zechs supplied, watching him carefully, trying to bring his attention towards the coffee.

Duo reluctantly eased his death grip on the railing, moving over to the table and sitting down hard on the remaining chair. Two hands wrapped around a burning hot coffee mug but Duo needed that pain. He needed to feel his palms bright red with scalding heat to come back down to earth.

Zechs noticed and said nothing.

Duo was trembling by the time he slowly brought the coffee to his lips, and took a gulp. His burning mouth and hands did the trick, he was back, and he moved the mug back down to the table with urgency. The roof of his mouth felt a bit raw but he was back inside himself. Mission complete, as Heero would say.

Duo looked at him with a 'please?' And Zechs a 'help yourself.' The man pushed the pack of cigarettes closer, and Duo gratefully pushed one between his teeth.

"I'm not sure this is a good idea." Duo said finally, searching inside himself for more of his personality. He was too shaken to feel like it, but he needed it. "Ya know? Like…" That was better. "I, you probably have a lot of these types of things. Friends. The whole fencing team and all. I uh. I'm not very good with these types of things."

He looked away, eyes back on the hyper-real blue sky. Bad decision, he moved his eyes over to the coffee mug. Better.

He wrapped a palm around it again, breathing through the pain. He knew the mug would not stay hot enough long enough. He had to take advantage while he could. He could feel Zechs inhale, about to say something but he did not want to hear it. "I…I just don't gotta lotta friends. And I'm unlucky. And I'm the God of Death. So anyone that tried to be, died real quick."

"You might be the death of me figuratively, one day," Zechs said, his voice soft. "But we are not on each other's lists."

Duo shook his head. "Now wait just a-"

"You'd assassinate me?" Zechs sounded amused.

"If it was a targeted objective," Duo supplied weakly, realizing how utterly untrue that statement was. Fuck. Duo and Heero had both prided themselves on still being able to kill each other, on coming secondly, (or thirdly), to any mission objective. There was a comfort in that, an honesty. It was clean that way. It is what it is. It was what it was. That's how soldiers are friends.

This was a new animal. And It was a species Duo did not dare recognize. Fuck, Fuck, Fuck.

"I'd change the objective," Zechs said.

This was how humans are friends.

The mug no longer hurt in his palm. It had cooled sufficiently, or his palm had simply numbed to the pain. It was a shame.

Duo did not want this in the way he decided he did not, in fact, actually want a dog. Physical pain he'd welcome. He even needed it sometimes to snap back into himself, but the soul stuff. His soul ached. His very soul just fucking _ached_. He could not take much more of this kinda pain. Gut pain. In-your-lungs pain. Heart pain.

"I don't have very many friends," Zechs offered in the silence.

"Treize," Duo said.

"I ..no." He did not have words for it. "It's complicated. Yes, perhaps of a sort." The man shifted, averting his eyes.

"He looks at you like he wanted to eat you. Like he wanted to eat me. A man like that gets what he wants before long," Duo said.

Zechs sighed. "Is it _so _very apparent?"

"A guess." Duo offered. It was hardly a guess.

Zechs hardly believed him.

"And when he called you a friend, there was something else in it. Something mocking almost." Duo shrugged.

"It was a long time ago." Zechs said.

"Hey, it's your ass, not mine," Duo shrugged, inhaling a deep drag.

Before Zechs could pale, or wince, or sigh, the man spotted the mischief in Duo's eyes, it was somehow infectious. The man smirked as he shook his head. "The very death of me," Zechs said softly, marveling at what a trouble maker this small boy has been, and could be.

"Of that I wouldn't joke." Duo answered.

Duo had smoked down to the filter, stubbed it out and lit another. Zechs said nothing.

"We are on two different sides," Duo said.

"It's not two sides. Or a triangle even. Each soldier on his own side, more like." Zechs replied. "Certain soldiers share certain motives for a time, an allegiance. It does not last. Can you say you are on the same side as 01? Or 03 or 5?" Zechs looked at him. "It's more complicated, I'd imagine. You work together as long as you share common interest. As long as you have the same goals. That, as you are now aware, can change."

"I'm not a child," Duo answered.

"You are not a child," Zechs agreed.

"We don't share an interest," Duo tried. He did not like how often Zechs alluded to the assassination hit against him; it was hard enough to push it to the back of his thoughts. "No matter the number of sides."

"That will change," the Merquise said. "In time it will be revealed."

"Well, let there be fucking light then," Duo snapped. The patronizing, the control, the man had so much self control, and grace, and power. All the damn cards. He hated this. If Zechs had a solution, he wanted to hear it now.

"Trust me." Zechs said.

"_No_." Duo snapped.

Zechs said nothing.

The boy forced a deep breath. His voice was calmer now, "_No_." He shook his chestnut bangs out of his eyes.

"We are at an impasse then." The man's voice was thoughtful and sad. "Unless…"

"Yea…?" Duo said, his patience wearing thin.

The man reached for a cigarette, long fingers delicately holding the rolled paper and tobacco, "Quid pro quo."

"English," Duo frowned.

"Something given in return for something else," Zechs said, lighting the cigarette with a match. "Eye for eye."

"A barter." Duo said warily. He hated arrangements. "Tit for tat, ya mean."

The man nodded, staring at the bright orange ember at the end of the cigarette. He had to find a way to buy a couple more hours, a couple more days. He had to appeal to something he did not know much about. During negotiations, it is smart to appeal to empathy, to cause, or to past history. He did not know what tugged on Duo's heart; he did not know what causes the boy was truly behind. And that left history.

He did not have an extensive understanding of the boy's history. The file mentioned the colony in the L2 cluster. An orphanage. Streets and gangs. It would be a dangerous game.

"I'm not asking of you to be my friend," Zechs started. "But I _am_ yours and with tha-"

The boy's eyes narrowed.

Game over.

"Sometimes it-"

Too late.

"I don't know what kind of friendships you entertain, _Merquise_." The boy all but sneered. "But they go both ways. Or they don't go at all." Duo took a deep drag, exhaling through his nostrils. It made him look like a wild snorting stallion. "Quid pro fucking quo."

The man opened his mouth but Duo shot him a look that had the man bite his tongue.

"Fucking complicated language, complicated fencing team, politics. We aren't-" Duo looked up towards the heavens. "-We aren't from the same fucking _world _even. You act like you trying to be my friend is _free_. Like I can just not be yours in return. Maybe in your world, fuck yea. Fucking wolves and politics and lies and your fucking big bullshit words."

Duo forced a deep breath, dragging his eyes off the too blue sky and back on the Merquise. Talking was grounding him. He could feel its strength in his stomach. "Not in my fucking world, man. If someone's got their back out for me I can't not have it out for them, understand? If someone's stealing me bread ya better fucking believe I'd break my neck to get the guards off their ass. So you better start saying what you mean or keep throwing around your nonsense big words again. Because ya can't keep throwing around real things like they ain't fucking nothing at all."

"I apologize." Zechs said. "I didn't…I understand now." It was not worth it to explain. "I was," he cleared his throat, "Lying to myself about the gravity of what I asked of you. I should never have thought you, _you,_ would value friendships as lowly as some of my past acquaintances. I did not mean to infer that" Zechs just stopped. There was no need to continue. "I ask your pardon. I won't make the mistake again."

Duo did not look convinced. "Just _spill_ already."

The man had wanted to wait. Wanted everything secure. The final few discs in hand before he got into it all. That, it appeared, was no longer a viable option. The negotiations had failed before they even had a chance to really begin.

"My motives…," Zechs said. He tried again, "It is clear to me now the system no longer functions." He looked over at the boy, "If it ever did at all."

The man took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. "There is no justice for someone like you. There is no integrity, no honor, in the systems of this war. Treize is dangerous yes, dangerous to you and dangerous to me. But he is an ally in all of this. And if you can help me, then I will let you go so you can get back to doing just what it is you do."

Duo's eyes widened in objection.

"There is a schism." And with this, Zechs lowered his voice. It sounded like a soft rumbling growl. These were the gravest of secrets. "Duke Dermail and his mobile dolls. Treize and his," Zechs faltered, "beliefs."

The boy raised his eyebrows.

"The General," Zechs tried again, "Treize believes in honor on the battlefield and honor and civility can only be accomplished between men. A winner and a loser based on fortitude and skill, not numbers."

"He'd rather sacrifice lives on principle," Duo said, disgust in his tone.

"Without lives nothing holds weight. That's the nature of battle. It is resources otherwise, or simple mathematics. It all becomes meaningless."

"It always _has_ been meaningless. Bodies, dolls." He shot the man a scornful look.

"If this becomes about the dolls, Duo. You will lose. You will all lose. Any resistance will be overwhelmed. It will be a massacre."

"Probably," Duo answered. One death was as good as another on a battlefield. Death in space he could handle. Executions or in a prison cell was a whole different animal.

"Certainly," Zechs said, frowning at Duo's nonchalance.

"So how do I help you so you'll let me atta here."

"The mobile dolls," Zechs said. "If I give you Tsubarov's systems. You can find a way, a weakness."

Duo whistled; dark blue eyes wide as saucers.

"If I give you those systems, that's worth more than a _targeted objective_."

Duo nodded, ears ringing a bit at the dizzying consequences of all of this. "That oughta work." He could not imagine the order still standing if he was holding information as devastating as the Merquise described. It is something even Heero would trade for. That thought, bargaining for his life, ached somewhere. He shoved it aside, in the shock of the Merquise's words. "You'd hang for that."

Zechs shook his head. "Not necessarily. The schism is there. It's a matter of time."

"All your beautiful furniture.." ( In Duo's defense, it did not sound as sardonic as it could have.)

"Forfeit." Zechs shrugged.

"Like a thief in the night."

"Are we so different now?" Zechs said.

"Yea," Duo answered. He would never let Zechs win a single point of that. They could not possibly be more different. Of that, if little else, Duo was completely and utterly convinced. "I'd love to see ya after a few years on the lam."

The man sobered at the thought. "I was never on a fencing team, Duo. I grew up in hiding. Grew up a ghost. I've been pretending since it suited me. I assumed a role that fit. I was at Victoria Academy. But trust me." He stared hard at the boy. "I will not mourn the furniture."

"Even the fancy couch looking things?"

"The canapé? No."

"_Why_ the fucking helmet?"

Zechs frowned. As it had not come up earlier, he had been hoping the boy would not ask. He did not wear it in his quarters. He did not wear it around Treize. He had not been wearing it in the prison that day. He wore it in battle; he wore it in front of strangers. Habits, hiding, guilt. OZ. It was foolish to think anyone could recognize him as the seven year old kid presumed dead. The seven year old lost prince of the Peacecrafts.

"Alright sheesh," Duo answered, watching as Zechs face darkened, watching the man get lost in his thoughts. "Nevermind."

"Treize is securing the final discs. Hopefully he will not insist on seeing you off."

"He knows the truth then?" Duo said.

"No…yes," Zechs said. "He can tell I care for you. Perhaps he thinks it's a sort of …infatuation."

"It's more dangerous for him to think we're friends." Duo agreed. "So you're crushin' on your screw?"

"It appears that way to him, I believe." Zechs answered.

"I _am_ charming."

Zechs snorted at that. He was glad Duo's mood was brightening. The tone was acidic still. But it was not as heavy as earlier. "You _are_ charming."

"And _very_ handsome." Duo added.

"Quite." The Merquise replied.

"I mean I could really understand how a guy like you would just fall for a guy like"

The Merquise raised his eyebrows. "You?"

"No the fucking canapé. Yea me, man."

"Unfortunate, as a guy like you could never really fall for a guy li-"

"Not a chance in hell," Duo answered with a grin.

"And hell is the house of the God of Death himself. So you'd know."

"You better believe it, babe."


	15. Chapter 15: No Chance in Hell part II

Chapter 15: No Chance in Hell (part II)

Author: Gilly Wrist

Reviews as welcome and loved and considered as always.

Snowdragonct: Different motivations and same objective for sure. They may have many differences, but they all would not benefit from the proliferation of those A.I. mobile suits.

Karina: That's what I love about this pair. They both are clever and quick-witted and play with language. It's about time Duo had a verbal sparring partner.

Solitaire: All is well. Busy, but busy and working is good! And writing this is a wonderful break for me.

Daemonmaxwell: More of Heero's motivations will be revealed, I promise you that.

Carla: Thank you! I'm glad you love Duo and Zechs, I love them too. Once characters grow in your heart you want a happily ever after because they become dear friends. They are my dear friends too. Have faith in that, if you can.

* * *

><p>The timing of all of this really sucked.<p>

I know I already mentioned the hurry up and waiting of war. It's a lot of waiting, and then with a flash, you're out of time.

I should've known. Somehow, somewhere, I always did know. I always knew and I said nothing. _Nothing_.

I had just let him leave, let him go.

This would be the last time I'd see him.

Afterwards, everything else, I did not know the man, any longer. I did not know what he would become. Like I said in the beginning, not all of us can fly.

War turned all of us into monsters.

I don't know why he did what he did. I do know the relativity of all those days with the Merquise. To each his own side, I remembered that lesson.

By the end, he was on a side few now can agree with, I guess.

All I know is at this time, this one time, these couple days, in the middle of all of it, this war. For those couple days I was treated decently. I was treated fairly. And he was true to his word.

Once, I knew this man. And he was a good man. And for that once, for this instance, these couple days, I ask you to spare him. I don't ask you to mourn his death.

But don't be glad for it; just don't be glad for it.

* * *

><p><em>"Not a chance in hell," Duo answered with a grin.<em>

_"And hell is the house of the God of Death himself. So you'd know."_

_"You better believe it, babe."_

The Merquise had opened his mouth to reply and instead, shook his bangs into his face, getting up from his seat on the balcony. He surveyed the view before looking back at the boy. "A pleasure as always, Maxwell."

Zechs brushed a bit of ash off his uniform, taking a final deep breath of fresh air. "The third drawer of my desk has a stack of discs. They are for you. The key for that drawer is under the little brass bell on my desk. There is also a tablet. It's off-network. And naturally, it would be an awful idea to try and transmit anything from here.."

Duo rolled his eyes.

"But you can start sorting through-"

"I got it, _Dad,_" Duo answered.

"I should be back in a couple hours. Provided something _pressing_ does not come up. I have some ideas involving the visual acuity systems." He frowned, staring down at his watch. "Later," the Merquise lamented. "It appears I am short on time. If you will excuse me." The man said, nodding at the boy and quickly moving from his quarters towards a private conference room. The General could not be left waiting.

Duo snorted. The man, for lack of a much better term, could be such a _dork_ sometimes. He sat up, stubbing out the rest of the cigarette and pushing up out of the chair. His stitched side bit at him, but he hardly noticed, feeling his lungs pull in deep steady breaths. Finally, _finally_ he had something important to do. Finally, _finally_, he was starting to feel like himself again.

It had been much too long.

He moved quickly towards Zech's office, locating the little brass bell and the small key, snorting again as he stared down at the small little lock on the drawer. He could've picked it open in a matter of moments, anyway. The discs and tablet monitor were as the Merquise had described. There were twelve discs.

He stared at the desk in distaste; sitting down on such an official chair, behind such a regal mahogany desk was hardly an option. He moved towards the Merquise's bedroom, feeling much better as he crawled onto the bed. Everything felt more casual this way.

It was rather bizarre.

Here he was, presumably propelling the start of a schism of great consequence, holding the imminent deaths of future lives and he was in pajamas, in a bedchamber that looked like it was furnished for some medieval palace.

He pushed the visual out of his brain and got to work.

The pilot grinned as he began to sort through the files, biting down on his lip as he searched. The Merquise had not been lying, inside were the codes and the architecture for what appeared to be every system for a new A.I. mobile suit. These were not the standard mobile OZ-06MS LEOS. These were OZ-02MD.

"Virgo," Duo breathed, seeing the word appear again and again in the files. It looked like the defenses were vastly improved by four planet defensers in the left shoulder that generated a defensive energy barrier. "_Fuckkk_" This would be a problem.

He loaded the next disc and pushed himself off the bed, he'd need to grab some more coffee. Sorting through all of this would take hours. The boy frowned as he pushed the bangs out of his eyes, absentmindedly scratching at the bandage over his stomach. His stitches must be ready to come out soon; they were starting to itch like hell.

The boy padded softly through the office and down the hallway to the kitchen, thankful there was still more coffee in the pot. It was lukewarm, and that was good enough. He never minded cooling coffee like some people did. He'd drink it down scalding hot, warm, room temperature, cold. It was a drug, and he treated it as such. The particulars did not much matter.

He poured the coffee in a fresh mug and whistled to himself. The quarters were remarkably quiet and it unnerved him. Although he had a lot of work to do, he almost wished Zechs would be back soon. It was strange to occupy ornate quarters such as this, alone. It made him feel like a thief with temporary amnesia or something. An intruder who somehow forgot he was intruding and could be caught in moments. More coffee was perhaps not the best idea.

Still, he needed it, he needed to focus. He finally had something to do.

It was hard to feel the urgency surrounded by antique furniture so regal and still, bookshelves and chairs undisturbed despite the hundreds of years since they were first made. Maybe that was it; this place was too still, too ageless, too immortal to get a proper grasp on time.

He started whistling again as the silence grew, bare feet padding silently over carpet as he moved through the living room and back towards the Merquise's bedroom.

And then the boy froze, mouth moving from the purse of a whistle to a tight bitter grin.

He was here.

Duo did not know where, Duo did not even know how he knew, but he knew. He was here. And that meant it was too late.

The braided boy tightened his grip on the mug. Freezing.

Still, not a sound.

Very slowly, the boy sat the coffee mug down on the long table pressed up against the back of one of the antique couches.

He took a step backwards, hesitantly, slowly, and raised his hands in surrender. With a slight wince to his stitched side as his stomach muscles tightened, Duo gingerly sank to his knees.

And then he waited.

He felt calm. He felt calm because he was devastatingly sad.

The boy blinked, wondering what was taking so long.

And then he heard the click of the safety on the gun. He refused to turn his head. It had come from the right of him, across the room by the door leading out of the apartment.

Duo closed his eyes.

He did not have the courage to meet the other boy's face.

And if this was to be his end, he would rather not go with tears in his eyes.

If Duo looked over there, towards the sound of the gun, he knew he would not be able to bite his tongue.

And things had moved far beyond words for awhile now.

It was all so utterly useless.

And there was really nothing to be said.

"What are you doing," The voice asked. It was a tight monotone.

Silence.

"What are you waiting for," Duo said finally, quietly, opening his eyes once more.

"_Why_ did you go." The voice across the room said again.

"Why would I make my own assassination a cakewalk."

"What?"

Duo heard the boy shift. And he could not control himself any longer.

Slowly, cautiously, he turned his head to the right, peering over at pilot 01. Heero Yuy.

The boy was leaning against a wall, clad in a charcoal jumpsuit. He looked like a mechanic. Dark brunette bangs were covering his eyes. His sharp jaw was clenched, the gun still drawn.

"You are here to kill me." Duo said, voice quavering as he stared at the glimmers of dark Prussian blue under the bangs. "Did you expect me to wait at the safehouse?"

"Get up, baka," Heero answered, leaning against the wall still. "_What_ are you doing."

Duo lowered his hands to the floor, climbing to his feet gingerly to avoid the stitches in his side. He was falling into a daze and he felt clumsy and slow, moving to his feet.

"I won't ask again, Duo."

The name, Heero almost never used his first name.

Duo pulled in a deep breath. "Sorting through the program specs of a new A.I mobile suit, OZ-02MD Virgo."

During missions Heero always referred to him by his last name, or when particularly angry, his number. His name, his first name, had been reserved for those in-between hours at the safehouses, had almost been used fondly. It was the closest thing he got to an endearment out of the boy, getting called by his first name.

Heero pushed off the wall, moving swiftly towards Duo. The other boy stood his ground.

"How did you acquire it," the boy hissed, glancing over Duo's face, assessing his physical condition. He pulled another gun out from a holster strapped to his leg, handing it to the boy.

"Zechs." Duo answered, fingers wrapping around the cool metal of the pistol. It was a bit awkward to grip the handle around the cast on his wrist, but it felt familiar, its weight felt good.

"What's your condition?"

Duo's eyes flickered with surprise. "Two broken wrists, two broken ankles, and a cut up side."

Heero cursed under his breath, eyes drawn to the barest outline of a bandage under the boy's thin t-shirt.

"In other words, I'm just fine."

"Are you AWOL?" Heero answered.

"I don't even know what the," A glare from Heero stopped the curse. "No. I didn't wanna get assassinated by ya so I ran. And then I got caught, _again_."

"I'm going to kill him."

"Who," Duo said. "Zechs? How do you think I have the-"

Heero suddenly put a finger to his lips, moving back across the room and against the wall.

Duo's eyes widened as he heard the sounds outside the front door of the quarters.

He shook his head as Heero pressed himself against the wall, preparing for the door to open.

The Merquise stiffened the moment he twisted the door knob and saw Duo rooted in the middle of the room with a gun in his hand. The blonde stood in the doorframe. Not daring to move a centimeter further into his quarters. He held up a hand at Treize, who was further down the hall. And the general placed his hand on his sword as his pace ground to a halt.

Zechs eyes were locked on the boy. Indigo eyes were wide as one finger motioned the man to step back. The Merquise shrugged and stood still, a small sad smile on his face.

They all waited for awhile.

And then Zechs did not want to wait any longer.

"Come here, Duo."

It sounded soft. It also sounded like an order.

The boy gulped down the spit between his teeth, refusing to meet Heero's glare of _Stay Put_. He moved towards the man. Zechs looked down at the small boy, well aware that Heero Yuy was likely three inches away, that three inches of wood door was all that separated the man from the end of his enemy's pistol.

Zechs said nothing to Duo, reaching for the waist of his pajamas and slipping a hand down inside the smooth fabric, towards the band on the boy's inner side. The man frowned as his other hand quickly moved towards the monitor in his pocket, focusing his attention so he did not mess up powering down them both at the same time. It would not be prudent to trip the failsafe at a time like this.

The boy breathed in the cologne of the man as Zechs had to lean forward for his fingers to reach the inside of Duo's thigh. And Duo widened his stance a bit, hoping to make it easier. While it looked incredibly compromising, the actions were stiff and formal. It took a discerning eye to tell these were not two lovers sharing a final strange and intimate goodbye, but rather two soldiers still trying to save each other in the final moments before imminent defeat.

"He's only after you." Duo said quietly, taking advantage of his mouth already positioned at the Merquise's ear. It felt pointless to even try. But he _had_ to try.

Zechs did not seem entirely convinced, and gently removed his hand, "the band is off." He reached for the inside pocket of his uniform, pressing the discs he retrieved into the boy's cold fingers.

He saw the question on the boy's face.

"It's all of them." Zechs whispered, his voice sounded hoarse it was so low and quiet.

"Back _up_," Duo hissed.

They were running out of time.

Zechs straightened and his full height moved his ear away from the boy's mouth. He looked down at the boy and stood still.

Duo's eyes widened, shaking his head in disbelief. He had to get the Merquise out of the room.

He raised the gun in his hand towards the man, "Back UP"

It still did not work.

And so Duo let the gun in the one hand (and the discs in the other) fall limply to the carpeted floor before he threw his arms around the blonde's neck in one quick movement, ignoring his protesting side as he crushed his mouth against the man's lips and pushed their bodies against each other. The force of the movement and shock of the action pushing the Merquise backwards into the outside hallway. The man's mouth had flown open in surprise and Duo had forcibly taken advantage, pushing his tongue into the man's mouth. It was crude and manipulative. It hurt, two strange mouths knocking teeth, two strange bodies slammed into each other. But it worked.

The man, in reflex, wrapped his arms around the boy as they tumbled backwards into the far wall of the corridor, and Duo wriggled in protest and ripped himself out of the Merquise's arms, stepping back towards the apartment and towards Heero. "Run," Duo snarled. "For fucking sake Zechs GET OUTTA HERE."

Treize rushed towards them, sword drawn. "Lieutenant, Move." Treize growled at Zechs before glancing over at the boy. "Fly fast, dear pilot," He growled, shoving Zechs further down the hallway, when the Merquise did not respond. "Or the Wind will catch up with you." He gave the boy a once-over, frowning at his disheveled appearance. So much now rested on this scrawny creature. "He trusts you, so _I.._must trust you." He glanced at his pocket watch. "You have six minutes."


	16. Chapter 16: Enemies of Their Own Allies

Chapter 16: Enemies of Their Own Allies

Author: Gilly Wrist

Reviews as welcome and loved and considered as always.

snowdragonct: yes I usually do not cliffhanger at all. I've been a reader for far too long. I'm sensitive to it (especially when they were never finished!) , and would never be so cruel as to truly make a big cliff. It is hard to tell what is going on in Heero's head. I'm not sure Heero even knows what is going on in his head. And poor Duo certainly, has not the faintest idea. He might know the boy's mannerisms, and perhaps a bit too well, but he has never been able to anticipate or accurately predict 01's actions. I am so glad you always want more!

idadri: The enemies of their own allies. I like that. I like that so much you named the chapter. It's hard to tell who is truly a friend. Or if anyone is a friend at all.

karina: hahaha oh yes. wtf indeed.

dear solitaire: things will be resolved before the end. do not be so sad! All things must die to be reborn to die once more. I will be here until you have all of what you need. As I am sure you will be here until I have all of what I need. have hope my dear!

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><p>We never again crossed paths, and he, he was true to his word about the schism and the Virgos.<p>

I heard of him again sure, and often.

He caused a lot of shit after that.

I cannot say I was surprised to find out he was Milliardo Peacecraft. My time with the man was drenched in the archaic mannerisms of older worlds, older societies that no longer functioned. It seemed obvious when I found out he was a Prince.

He was a man outside of time and place.

A man like that doesn't last long in a world as fucked as this one.

He exploded like only a lightening count could, in a brilliant flash of light, in last moments undoing his plan to destroy an Earth he was no longer part of.

I forgave him. I don't know why he did it but I hardly care anymore.

He was gone and time moved on.

The war ended, Treize was dead.

But in this part of the story, these next moments, I was still in the thick of shit.

I could not step back yet, could not yet hold the weight of my newly formed memories. I could not fathom it would be my last glimpse of the Merquise.

At the moment, I'm retelling, I can only say my mind was elsewhere. I was terrified to walk back through that door.

* * *

><p>Duo did not dare breathe as he shoved forward to the doorframe.<p>

"_You have six minutes"_

He did not have time to avoid it, to think of a better way.

The only way out is through.

He moved quickly back into the quarters of the Merquise, whirling around and pushing the door closed behind him. If he were to die it would be just the two of them. He'd be damned if his final moments were spent glancing at Treize in the hall.

"You have the rest of the discs." Heero said, voice neutral and low. His eyes were dark with anger beneath his thick shock of bangs but his gun was pointed to the floor.

Duo nodded. "six- "

Heero nodded curtly, he had heard, he was striding across the room towards the balcony. He looked back at the boy. "I hope you can run." His face was unreadable.

Duo nodded, swiftly picking up the gun he had dropped and the rest of the discs on the floor. He moved to the bedroom, fingers quickly working over the tablet to eject the other disc and gathering the rest of the discs off the bed.

"I don't have good pockets." Duo said, handing them over to Heero. The pockets of the pajamas were loose. It would not be smart to risk it.

The boy looked at him, taking them and stashing them in the various pockets of his mechanic uniform. "Aren't these your bargaining tools?"

"If ya wanted me dead, Yuy…" Duo all but snapped, grabbing the pack of cigarettes and the matches. Heero eyed him distastefully.

Duo rolled his eyes. "6 minutes is a fucking hour for a guy like you."

"5 and 23 now." Heero answered.

"Plenty of time," Duo answered, pushing one into his teeth. At the glare, he kept it unlit.

"You could be bugged." Heero eyed the casts.

"I could be bugged," Duo answered. "We can't figure that out until we can cut the damn casts off."

Heero did not reply.

"Unless you've changed your mind," Duo supplied.

Heero scowled, moving out onto the balcony.

"Drainage pipe on the right. Should take us down to the ground. Heading east we can scale the wall and move through the woods."

"I have a motor bike on the west side."

Duo shrugged. "Either or."

"We'll head east."

Duo grinned at that. He never got much concession from the pilot during missions like this. It meant a lot.

And then things went automatic.

Heero was on the ledge of the balcony and grabbed onto the drainage pipe and he was gone. Duo shook his head, before snapping into his training. _Thanks for trusting me babe_. He grabbed onto the pipe, wincing at the stretch against his stitches.

Heero had been right of course. And Duo would have decked him if Heero had doubted his reported condition of "fine." Duo could handle himself. And these wounds, a week old by now, were nothing to write home about. He was, afterall, a soldier and a gundam pilot.

By the time he reached the ground he saw the back of Heero skirting along the building towards the east end of the compound. Duo's brain largely switched off, unlit cigarette still stuck between his teeth. The last normal thought he considered was "gotta catch up." Then, it all took over.

Dodge, crouch, breathe, scout, duck, wait, in the shadows, guard walking past, wait, wait, wait, a two finger motion from Heero. Go NOW. Run. Stop. Wait. _ Run_. Climb.

That was annoying. The climbing. His clumsy casted wrists did not make scaling fences as effortless as it usually was.

He slipped and tore some of the loose pajama fabric on the barbed wire. He hopped down the other side. Not bad, 8 feet. His ankles sparked in protest. And then they were moving through the woods.

Then they heard the siren.

They pressed on.

It was a good two miles of silence.

Only then, did Duo snicker as they walked carefully and quietly through the brush. 6 minutes had been plenty of time.

The boy frowned as the mud of the woods squished through his toes, sighing as he looked over himself. He was dying to get out of the casts and out of the pajamas. To have boots on again. It looked pathetic. He tongued the filter still hanging out of his mouth. Finally pausing a moment to light it.

Heero halted, scanning the foliage in a 360.

The air was warm and still. The sounds of the squirrels made it hard to take stock of approaching sounds. However, the squirrels still on the ground meant they were not alarmed. They were safe for a couple moments.

And then the air felt different. Still, like it was suddenly frozen. He no longer heard the squirrels. Duo did not have to glance over at the other pilot to know the boy's gun was pointed at him.

"We aren't going back to the safehouse are we," Duo said finally, taking a slow drag off his newly lit smoke.

Heero stared at him.

"Ya came to rescue me, to kill me," Duo continued. He knew why. But he wanted Heero to say it. "Why bother?" He tossed the gun in his hand over to the boy. No sense making 01 more on edge. As far as fast reflexes, Heero would win. And as far as life value, Duo was not going to try shooting the pilot to save himself. It would be pointless. And he would lose.

Heero frowned, staring over at the boy. He would never understand Duo's irrational choices.

"Why would I leave you in the hands of OZ?"

Duo shrugged, inhaling another drag..

"You would want to be executed by OZ instead of me?"

"No," The boy answered. "I'd rather be killed by you. I trust you."

"Shut up." Heero said. It was not angry. It was neutral. He did not want to hear any more.

"Where is the kill order from?"

"Inconsequential," Heero answered, he looked vaguely annoyed and shifted the gun to his other hand. Shut up never worked on the boy. He should have stopped trying long ago.

"why"

"It was terminated."

"_What_?" So he did not know why.

Heero said nothing.

"So then, what the fuck is this? That's WHY I left. That's why for all of this shit."

"You are a traitor," Heero answered. "You have been compromised."

"No. WHAT? No. I didn't fucking-" Man did this hurt.

"Yes." Heero answered, cocking his gun.

"_No_. I got fucking caught, you idiot."

"By Zechs. Doubtful."

"He found me. In the prison you fucking blew up."

"And asked you to be his roommate," Heero said.

"No."

"His…" Heero sneered as he gestured. He could not find the right word for it.

"Nah, that's just with you, babe," Duo answered bitterly, catching the implication. Ouch. His fingers trembled a bit as he pulled in another drag.

"So he gave you the mobile suit system because he likes your company." It did not sound biting or sarcastic coming from 01, but it was meant to be. Certain things about each other they knew too well.

It stung.

"Fuck off," Duo all but snarled. "Honestly? If you are disregarding that order. Which ya don't ever do. To fucking kill me because you think I told Zechs shit then fuck you. I _get_ listening to fucking orders. That's why I ran. But you _know_ I don't lie. So if you're going to kill me over this shit then get it the fuck over with."

"Why. Did. He. Give. You. The. System."

"Treize is defecting."

"Highly unlikely."

"The new system is completely A.I."

"Impossible."

"Check. The. Discs." Duo spat.

Heero did not look convinced.

"You can always shoot me later," Duo supplied, crossing his arms over his chest. This all hurt so much somewhere.

Heero reached for the comm in his pocket. Duo did not hear what the boy said. His head was buzzing. He clenched his teeth, staring down at his casted wrists. One of his knuckles was torn open. Must have been on the barbed wire. _Hope it was rusty_, Duo thought darkly. Not that he'd live long enough to die by tetanus. It was a passive aggressive thought. He felt too powerless to simply think aggressively.

When Heero put his commlink back in his pocket he looked over at the boy. "Pick up the gun." Was all he said as he started trudging through the forest again. The boy followed, wordlessly. The half finished cigarette fell from his numbing fingers.

They walked for hours. Duo did not have the heart to swat the bugs off his bare arms. He did not care. He focused on the rhythmic sound of his breathing as his thoughts drifted back to the Maxwell Church massacre. His thoughts swirled around Solo again, around the plague. Once more around all those rotting bodies, eyes open and glazed.

He was back in reality now. And his reality was a hell.

With Zechs inside the pretend world of archaic landscape and chivalry, something had grown. Something was born. The It with a capital I. It was a lot of things. It was the hope of It Ain't Over Yet when he had nothing. It was the rising seas of a dangerous forging of trust, of camaraderie, of friendship even. It was dangerous to feel so very valued. It had been reckless to feel worth something.

Without it now, miles from the quarters of pretend, Duo was grinding his molars into his gums. It was The Fall. Again. Always cyclical, the hellish pains of his life. He was a nuisance again, worthless again, without friends, again. And the difference between his life and his death? The careless choice of someone else. He was caught, he was captive, again.

Again.

And again.

Before long they reached a road.

If Heero found Duo's silence troubling, he made no mention.

To Duo, it was bizarre how Heero would speak of executing a target, and then turn his back to that target and walk in front of that target while said target was armed.

It felt insanely patronizing and somehow based on a very grand assumption. (Which was true, so the perfect soldier was right, but that is neither here nor there)

Perhaps to Heero it was just too illogical. Perhaps Heero knew how little Duo valued his own life, or trusted Duo knew how important Heero's life was to the Mission. Duo did not know how Heero could believe he was a traitor, but still had faith Duo would not be traitorous enough destroy the Mission.

Duo was traitorous enough to be executed. But not traitorous enough to save his own skin at the cost of Heero's demise.

It was illogical. And again, risk-assessment wise, a large assumption.

It probably made perfect sense to 01. But 02 could not even begin to wrap his head around it.

Heero usually minimized and calculated all risk.

But Duo knew better than to ask.

Barton was waiting further down the road with a vehicle.

"I've been monitoring the channels," Trowa said, avoiding Duo's eyes as they both got in the van.

"The perimeter fence was tripped, but no mention of either of you. They have not sent out search and recovery on anything I've been monitoring. They've checked the base and concluded false alarm. Unless they are using different channels and its disinformation and the Specials are running another op."

Heero nodded and did not reply.

"Did you bring the hood?" Heero asked.

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me."

"Yes." Trowa answered, "It's in the back seat."

"Put it on, Duo." Heero said.

"You're such an asshole," Duo answered, avoiding Heero's glare as he tugged the black heavy hood over his head. "Fucking happy?" It sounded muffled. Duo chomped down on his bottom lip in annoyance. His breath immediately made the fabric stifling. "Wanna fucking bind my hands," he said, holding his pathetically casted wrists up, he waved his fingers enticingly. He did not hear a word and he eventually just put them down.

He gave up. He gave up so hard.


	17. Chapter 17: You're Free

Chapter 17: You're Free

Author: Gilly Wrist

Reviews as welcome and loved and considered as always.

Sorry this took so long. I've been exceptionally busy with work. And during any moments of free time, greedily devouring ajayd's **THE BEAST IN ME. **So if any of you somehow possibly missed that, GET ON IT ASAP. And review the hell out of it, because as a veteran reader I know how stories like that one are the very rarest of gifts.

* * *

><p>solitaire: I do not know if there will be others stories in the future. I will always be writing, yes, but in what capacity I am not sure. I want to make something completely my own (despite how lovely so many incarnations of Duo have become to me over the years as a reader). As far as your sincere appreciation, it is no small return! It is very dear to me. One day those pilots will get their smacks..<p>

snowdragonct: YESSSS. It's such a pleasure to read your thoughts on the chapter. I think Duo reads things the only way he can perceive them. Are they wrong? Absolutely. Wrong and a seasoning of right? Possibly. "Will they believe Duo then? Or will he decide his enemy was a far better friend than his supposed allies?" Well you just summed that up. I'm so pleased! I think you did that swifter and simpler than I could have. As far as the ending, it is soon I think, but I cannot say.

karina: insane and snarky is the recipe for making a Duo. My favorite recipe anyway.. So I certainly have no blame. And yes, his world is shit at the moment.

idadri: you are welcome! thank you for reading! That's true, I agree that it sounds like Heero already sort've knows..

* * *

><p>The rest of this, in regard to the Merquise, is inconsequential. I've said the last I can say, about the man I once knew.<p>

The rest, I guess, is the results of having known him.

I cannot explain why I thought about him so much. His memory was a sort of bizarre stability to me. I can still feel the echoes of some pretend world in our conversations. In this pretend world I was valued. I was treated kindly. He almost acted like he liked me, liked who I was, or was amused anyway.

It sounds rather impossible, even now. (Probably a weak form of Stockholm syndrome on my part. Brain tricks. Brain ticks. )

The last one that liked me was Solo and I think a lot of that was the tit for tat thing. I do not know why Solo first took me in. But I earned my place. I was grateful for the boy's decision. I was starving and alone. I paid him back almost in full, I think. If I could've saved him, well, that would have really been something. We would have been even then.

I owed Zechs. That's why I still thought about him. I did not deserve the consideration I was given. I did not deserve the freedom, or the Virgo systems, or the friendship he offered. He saved my life. And now he's dead.

It made me uncomfortable, squirming uncomfortable to think on it too long. Guilty.

I told him all my friends die. I do not, for the life of me, know why he did not believe me. Or maybe he just did not care about the dying part.

Still, I just. I don't get it, is all. It's been months. And I do not have a grasp on any of it.

Maybe it's being back here in the L2 cluster, running a junk shop. Maybe it's the nightmares.

The war is over. The other pilots were gone in their own little post-war lives.

It hardly made a difference.

Zechs lingered on me. I guess that's the point of all this. That's my final sentence about all of this.

He lingered and the lingering made me just as gullible as I guess I always was. I suck at epitaphs and eloquence and even knowing what the fuck is going on.

I tried though, after it all ended, to be more like him. That sounds stupid. I tried to mimic some of his, things? preferences? It was unconscious at first. Maybe that's a better epitaph for honoring the dead. I started that junk shop and drove it into the ground, or just above the ground more like. Everything I made I poured back into those antiques he had everywhere. I don't know shit about furniture, but I did know about transports and cars. I used to think those things were for rich idiots. I didn't see it. The value in rebuilding old things. It became a compulsion. Salvaging vintage junk. Like if I could solder some decades old engine back together a castle would appear out back. It was stupid but it keeps me busy. It also keeps me pretty hungry, and scrapping by. I figured that out early. Too much food freaks me out with guilt. I sleep better on an empty exhausted stomach.

That's not to say I ever slept well. And that's another thing, that I did like him. I'd read. I always read electronic manuals and briefs and news and normal shit. I had always devoured education. I'd always honored that the Father and the Sister taught me that skill. I never let it go to waste. But stories, fiction. I had never had time for that. Classics, philosophy. I did now. And when the nightmares came, I Counte Cristo'd them away.

Now I'm just rambling and I don't know who all of this is even for, all of this. Whatever I've written. My account in defense of that man. I think I'm glad I didn't know him after. Saw how he changed. We all do. Change.

It was perfect, he was perfect, where it ended. On him at least, the day would never pass, the sun would never set, and the unnerving emptiness of night and "I don't even_ know_ you anymore" could ever come.

It could never be all figured out as a lie. It just endured. Story stopped in medias res. That's the only way any story ends well.

* * *

><p>The van lurched to a stop and Duo frowned, nauseous and hot and nervous. It seemed like it had taken hours. How long it had been truly, he did not know.<p>

He heard the van doors open.

"Can I take this fucking-" Duo's words fell short as he heard the van door next to him slid open. A strong firm arm grabbed his elbow and yanked him out of the car. "Seriously?" He knew it was Heero. He felt the boy reach for his other elbow. It was humiliating to have his hands twisted behind his back.

Maxwell allowed himself to be pulled from the van, stumbling a bit as Heero yanked him up the path.

It was pathetic.

Duo scowled beneath the heavy fabric of the hood, doing his best to stumble so he could find the leverage to duck his head low enough for the hood to slide off.

Heero cursed as he tripped over the boy, scowling as 02's tactic succeeded.

"Much better," Duo mumbled, face flush red from the heat of the hood. He squinted and blinked as his eyes adjusted to the sunlight. They were in the woods. There was a cabin further down the gravel driveway. Dense tree cover meant it would be easily overlooked from above. The cover came with a price however; the pilots had no clear vantage point to watch for the Alliance's approach. If the trip wires did not work, (and Duo was sure the place was wired already), they would not spot their enemies until they were knocking at the front door.

Duo whistled a cat call as the front door opened and revealed a small blonde with bright blue eyes. The boy looked pale and troubled, smiling a bit at Duo's whistle, rolling his eyes.

"Nice seeing ya Cat," Duo called out, loudly enough to rile Heero. "What a reunion this is turning into."

"You too, Duo.." Quatre answered, politely ignoring Duo's handcuffs.

Heero grunted as he shoved the boy forward through the door.

"Aw and WU-MAN. Damn, the whole crew is here."

At the mention of the nickname, the boy's eyes narrowed, eyes still locked on the computer screen at the table he was seated before.

Heero kicked out a free chair and abruptly pushed the boy down.

"Put your casts on the table," Heero said.

Duo snorted. "Want my feet up there too?"

The ankle casts were covered with mud and grime, wet dark leaves wedged between his toes.

Heero glared, and Duo ducked his head as he saw Heero's fingers curl into a fist.

Trowa sat down beside him, plugging in the small circular saw. "Don't move," he said quietly as the saw buzzed to life.

Duo snorted at the obviousness of the request. _No kidding_.

The saw started screeching in protest as it met the plaster of the cast. Wufei frowned against the white powder of pulverized plaster, and grabbed his laptop and drives, retreating into another room.

"Leaving so soon?" Duo called after him. He was not met with a reply.

Heero was pacing the room, silent and stiff.

"Here," Quatre said gently, pushing a small Styrofoam cup into Duo's free hand. "Jasmine tea."

The braided boy nodded his thank wordlessly, staring down at the hot pale liquid.

The three were still for a moment, ignoring Heero's pacing as they focused on the whirring of the cast being cut apart. Duo rolled the fingers of his free hand around, watching the reflection of the window in the tea. He felt alone.

"Long day?" Quatre eventually tried.

Heero had since disappeared somewhere, presumably to start sorting through the discs.

"Yea.." Duo said.

He felt empty. He had no real words.

It was the first time all day he could start to replay events, could start recording and solidifying memories into his brain. Quatre simply sat beside him, silent and still.

The screeching saw filled the void. Duo absentmindedly stared at the white dust from all the incinerated plaster. The cast was almost cut through on one side.

"Can you get a screwdriver and a razor blade." That was Trowa. The voice was low and directed at Quatre. The blonde boy got up to retrieve the items. They worked without words., Trowa wedging the screwdriver into the crevasse while Quatre carefully cut away the gauze around it.

Quatre's sharp inhale could not ever draw Duo's eyes. The braided boy just stared at the tea, lost in the nothingness of his inability to draw thoughts or sentences. He was feeling numb and cold. He did not know why. He was too tired to care.

Duo bit back a scowl as he heard the plaster cracking, still refusing to look at the two pilots.

"There," Quatre said in a soothing voice, "You're free."

Something in Duo snapped this time, he snarled with teeth as he grabbed his arm away from the two boys. His arm was yellow and green and blue with bruising (Duo surmised this is what had drawn Quatre's sharp breath). Trowa stood up defensively, unconsciously moving between Duo and the source of his sudden anger. The hot jasmine tea spilled across the table.

The braided boy kicked back hard against the table, sending the chair he was sitting in flying backwards where suddenly, blissfully, his head cracked into the unforgiving wood floor. This is free, Duo thought dazedly as the world spun around him. And then he passed out.

A small mercy.

He awoke on a bed in a small room, tensing as he noticed Heero beside him. He was in sweatpants now. Quatre's maybe. The cast on his other wrist and the two on his ankles were gone. He was shirtless. Duo looked up as Heero approached him before pointedly turning his head away.

"You were out for 2 hours." 01 said promptly, "No lacerations, probable concussion."

Duo blinked slowly. That was the nausea in his gut then.

"I went through the casts. They were clean," Heero said, voice low and neutral. "I was going to remove your stitches."

Duo still said nothing.

Heero started to move from the room. He stopped. "Can I," he hesitated. "Get you anything?" It was halting and forced. 01 was not used to being considerate.

"Smokes," Duo growled, voice rasping a bit from his dry throat.

"It is an unacceptable habit." Heero said, frowning as he glanced back at the boy.

Duo still had his head turned away.

The silence stretched and stretched.

Heero shook his head, giving up as he moved towards the door before glancing back at the boy one final time.

"For a fucking deadman?" Duo spat, eyes meeting the other pilot's now. He struggled to sit up on the bed, "For a fucking deadman?" He demanded again, swinging his legs over the edge of the mattress and pushing himself off the bed. Everything started to spin. His ankles quivered with weakness as he set them on the floor. He took a shaky step forward towards the other pilot, eyes dark with anger. "For a fucking deadman Heero? For a traitor? A whore?"

"Sit down." Heero ordered, stepping closer. His eyes narrowed and his sharp jaw jutted out further as he gritted his teeth. He brought up his arms in defense as the braided boy kept stumbling towards him.

"For your fucking dead whore, you _fucking_ bastard." Duo swung and Heero easily ducked the blow, grabbing 02 by the throat. Duo pressed into his grip, swinging madly as if daring Heero to squeeze harder. The other pilot did as he was dared, his indigo eyes wide with puzzle as he tightened his grip. Duo's face was red from exertion and lack of air, yet he managed to spit in Heero's face with the last of the salvia in his mouth. _Ah, freedom again_. Duo's sight was starting to vignette.

Heero released the boy's throat, quickly moving to catch the other pilot's limp body. Heero twisted so they both sat down hard on the floor, 01 sure to re-secure the boy's fists.

Duo weakly struggled against the arms around him, panting and wheezing against the air filling his lungs once more. All the blood flowing back to his brain made for a dizzying head-rush.

"Why are you doing this?" Heero wondered aloud, shaking his head as Duo struggled to get out of the other boy's hold. Heero, out of kindness, had a death grip on the boy's forearms instead of his bruised broken wrists.

"I'm _shit_ to you." Duo panted, twisting and gasping against Heero's chest.

"You are a gundam pilot," Heero said. "You are better than this."

"AM I?" Duo demanded voice bitter and breathless.

"You are a gundam pilot." Heero said again.

"Then why are you acting like I'm some fucking criminal," Duo panted, still straining against the vice grip on both his arms. He still could not work any leverage, he tried to twist so he could at least have the chance to knock the back of his head into 01's chin.

"I was incorrect," Heero said simply if a bit tersely as he tightened his grip. "I was—" He amended the statement. "It would have been difficult to lose you. And the probability was high."

Duo froze, Heero kept his grip with the same firm pressure.

"A casualty we could not afford."

"So all the-you-still-trying-to-kill-me stuff?"

"You turned traitor is still a pilot casualty. If that was the case."

"Since I'd be as good as dead anyway to the fucking mission," Duo muttered.

"Yes," Heero answered.

"I hate your guts," Duo said finally.

"I do not hate yours," Heero replied, slowly if a bit stilted.

"You are one of the worst friends I've ever had."

"I am not a friend," Heero said. Even the word sounded strange, coming from 01's mouth.

"Brother in arms?" The words had a mocking acidity.

"Pilot," Heero grunted.

"No imagination," Duo answered. "You can let go now, _asshole._"

Heero twisted so he could pull his legs under him, releasing Duo's forearms so he could wrap them around the boy's back and under his legs, picking him up in one fluid, albeit a bit awkward, motion.

"Whoaa," Duo breathed, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment as the world spun. "I'm not a chick," he protested as Heero carried him over to the bed and set him down on it.

Heero ignored the comment, eyes trained on Duo's stitches. The casts had come off early; there had not been an option. Bandaged support, when it could be afforded, would have to do. But the stitches were ready to come out.

"I need to—will you let me remove your stitches," Heero said, correcting the demand.

"I can do that myself," Duo snapped, swallowing hard as the room became steady again. "…But I'll let you, for smokes." His eyes shut with an embarrassed grimace for a moment, trying desperately to quell the flush of his cheeks. Small wonder Heero thought he fucked Zechs for those discs. The bartering system he learned on the streets was his primary operating system. Tit for tat. No one did shit for free. It had to be a good trade, one that made sense. And without currency, his body was often on the line. It had sounded cheap. (And how effortlessly the barter flew from his lips, a scarlet letter.) Why was he so angry that Heero would make these assumptions. Heero just _knew_ him. Knew how easily he'd trade himself to achieve an end. (An end as stupid and small as his oral fixation and love of nicotine.) What had Heero said? '_An unacceptable habit_.' He was acting like a junkie. He was acting like shit.

He opened his mouth to take that offer back, fingers twisting in the sheets. He needed something snarky and mean. He just needed the other pilot to leave; he could not bear to look at him right now.

"Fine," Heero had ground out, already stalking out of the room. He did not miss that 01's fingers were curled into fists.

Fuck. Duo drew a shaky breath as he bit savagely into his lip. He did not understand it. The stiff honor code that Heero had, or even worse, Wufei. That bizarre sense of entitlement, integrity. Integrity was a better word for it. Entitled to have integrity. Duo never felt that way. He could hardly understand, holding oneself up high enough to have all these complicated ethical codes. He had given away all he could give before he could even remember.

Pride, honor.

Heero and Wufei could have these things because they never had to give away what he did. They'd both die than compromise these codes of conduct. Duo had begged to be fucked to escape death, begged to be fucked to spare one of the younger street kids when they both got cornered by Ozzies. Death had watched him degrade the last ounces of self-worth he had to escape the scythe of It's Finished. And so, probably with disgust, even Death now refused to take him. For everyone there is a time. Ethics and dignity and values would mean that death reflected the life led. Wufei would die one day. So would Heero. Death had probably been arranging that honor for years.

Heero would probably go out in some super-human blaze of glory. Some brilliant explosion, deep in space, a blinding white ball of light. He'd go inside his gundam, self-exploding, choosing his fate, after saving the world 9 times over. He'd explode like a star, the fire and heat burned into the hearts and minds of all the world. They'd remember his death. Wufei as well. That reserved, deadly fighter would probably finally settle his score. Revenge his clan. Bring down the hand of justice and accomplish all he had set out to achieve. He'd look Death square in the eyes, know it was finished, that justice had finally and completely been served and then only then, would Death take him on bended knee.

Death had asked both these pilots several times over, Is It Now? And those boys both answered Not Yet. And so death listened. Death listens to those it respects. And Death has no vacancy for the cowards who make a mockery of life.

Death was probably worried of catching a venereal disease. Duo grinned savagely at that thought, tongue snaking past his lips to lick the metallic fluid on his mouth. His teeth had bitten through. Death does not want any whiners. And Duo was one of the best.

The boy sighed, trying to move his thoughts to a better place. All of this was so useless. He had forgotten some of this feeling in the chambers of the Merquise. Something about how the man had treated him made him ignore the pain of the other pilots' company. He was so far beneath the other pilots he could hardly stand it. They could hardly stand it. They tolerated him because it would take too long to train anyone else. They tolerated him because it would be a real shame to sentence a good man with honor to the suicide mission they were on.

Duo exhaled, untwisting his fingers from the sheets beneath him, focusing on breathing in the rhythm he had spied Wufei use. He needed to calm down. He needed to act this was all fucking fine. If he acted more unstable, his situation would get increasingly dangerous. Everyone always preys on the weak.

Heero walked back into the room, holding the medical kit and the cigarettes. He tossed the pack on the bed. "After I'm done," 01 said simply. He could tell on the boy's face the moment the request was made earlier, that Duo could not handle a further lecture. And that the trust between them was gone.

Duo paled, and nodded once, unable to stop himself from reaching for the pack and gripping it tightly. He was already holding Heero's end of the deal. Things usually did not go down like that. Exchanges were usually a lot more tense, exchanges were usually an exercise in power. Heero must have been too disgusted to bother. That pained him.

"Stop," Heero gritted out, unzipping the kit and pulling out the scissors and tweezers. He started sterilizing the tools in a clear solution.

"What?" Duo said in a small voice, both distracted in his thoughts and confused at the pilot's pained tone.

"Thinking," Heero said. "You are breathing erratically, and it is going to make removal more difficult."

Duo looked away. "Roger," he said, staring at the far wall. "You got it, boss."

"Duo…" Heero warned, setting the tools down on the clean towel he had put on the edge of the bed.

Duo scrunched up his face, and flashed a big smile. "Whattt- it's not like I can just quit breathin'. I'm not the perfect soldier, ya know."

"The thinking," Heero said. When he placed his cool fingers to the boy's side, prodding the skin on either side of the stitched wound, Duo twitched in startlement, and covered that reaction with a cough.

"We can do this later," Heero said in a low voice, looking over the pilot carefully.

"What? Nah, you got that shit and the time," Duo finished lamely.

"You can't even look at me," Heero pointed out.

"I thought you were going to kill me twice today, buddy," Duo forced a small grin. "It's been a long day."

"I am not going to terminate you." Heero answered slowly. "I, my training is not entirely suitable for certain things. The training says you could have turned. But I know you could not." Heero drew in a deep breath. "The inconsistency and how I could _know_ you could not, is troubling. I cannot make a correct assessment of the risk your proximity poses. I know like it is 100% but even factual data falls at 92%. So that is an error."

"I'm not a fucking turncoat," Duo snapped.

"I know." Heero answered. "But I do not have the facts yet to substantiate that claim."

Duo rolled his eyes. "It's called _trust_."

Heero glared at that. "I know what _trust_ is. That, depending on the subject, falls between .01 and 72%"

The braided boy snorted at that. "You've gotta be kidding me that you've assessed a target at .01% _trust_."

"Zechs Merquise," the pilot ground out, eyes narrowing.

Duo drew in a sharp breath, shooting Heero an annoyed look. "_Awesome._"

"But the highest is 72%. And you-"

"Is that reserved for the good Doctor J?"

"45%" Heero answered.

"Who is 72."

"Quatre."

"And I am?" Duo shook his head; the implications of this conversation were making him nauseous.

"I just _know._"

Duo frowned.

"It's a different part of my brain."

Duo did not answer.

"It does not work with numbers. It seems like 100% but it cannot statistically be. It is an error."

"Or a virus in your training," Duo drawled sardonically. He did not want to hear any of this. He could not bear it.

Heero looked alarmed.

"It's a _joke_."

It was the dawn again. The beginnings. Duo shook his head hard, fighting the thoughts and groaning with the dizziness that drenched his vision once more. It had been too little, too late. It had been sunset and then utter darkness between them. It had been, if you are possibly accusing me of this, then it is done, it is finished, it is over. There was a power in that somewhere. A Things Will Be As They Never Were Ever Again. It was stubborn and dead. Sad and willing to bear the weight of that loss forever. They'd fuck again, sure. Maybe. Who Cares. But Never Again would Duo hope. Being accused of Certain Things was just _permanent_. It had to be. It all hurt too much. And that did not matter. The pain of it all. But it was just old. He felt too old and aching, too arthritic to go through it all again.

Duo had felt the sunset of it all. The cold emptiness between them. The 'I can't recognize you in the dark'. Unfortunately, inexorably, and ever so slowly, there were whisperings of a new dawn. And Duo did not want to face that day. They were not there yet.

Gullible. It was a cycle. A joke. A couple choice words, a couple sentences, and Duo started to believe again. He was such a child, an idiot.

Everything, so utterly and impossibly cruel, begins again in time.

It was too little, between them. Too little and way too fucking late. Mildly autistic would be a gentle diagnosis for 01. Batshit crazy and masochistic, a gentle diagnosis for 02. One could not entertain an idea of friendship. And the other could not cut out his pathetic child heart.

If he understood words like dignity or integrity, maybe those would hold him fast. Maybe it's dignity that stops the believing. A sense of righteousness or outrage. A line like "You can't treat me like this." Or "I deserve so much more."

He didn't. He didn't have those sentences in his body. They were hollow and held no weight. No one deserved anything. No one needed anything. But sometimes, in a new day, there is kindness to be found. Consideration, at least. Zechs had shown him that.

"So I'm at 100 huh?" Duo said finally. "Get this shit outta me so we can go through those discs."


	18. Epilogue: The Wind Caught Up

Epilogue: The Wind Caught Up

Author: Gilly Wrist

* * *

><p>and that ladies and gentlemen, is all she wrote.<p>

thank you to all of my reviewers and all you silent readers for taking the time to read my story.

It has been the greatest gift to have you all listen.

as far as the end of it all, trust yourself. you know, and I know, where this story ends. I feel like all your hearts and imaginations can come up with infinitely better variations than just my one version. So I leave all of that to you.

* * *

><p>Karina: I'd agree. I'm not sure Zechs and Heero and Duo could be of a more different variety.<p>

Snowdragonct: It does make a huge different. Those couple years and Zechs having formal training, schooling.. Zechs is a little more grounded I think. Sure of himself. Sure of his ego at least, his personality, and the implications of his actions. You are quite welcome. We all miss Zechs. Of that I am sure. I absolutely have sympathy for Heero, I'm glad you do too.

Dearest Solitaire: It's just time I wrote something of my own. All mine. This has been a wonderful exercise for me and has vastly exceeded any expectations I could ever have made. I was pretty sure no one read gundam wing stories anymore and I certainly did not intend to find such well-considered reviewers taking the time to review my work. It has been such a blessing.

daemonmaxwell: It is rather hilarious. I don't think it's weird. I found it amusing myself. I think Heero meant his heart? but I'm not quite sure. His training has made him a little bit, thick? perhaps that is a nice way of saying it. haha.

* * *

><p>Duo stared down at the notebook before him. <em>That's the only way a story ends well<em>.

He had nothing else to say. He was stuck now. He hardly felt better.

If this were a file on a tablet he would delete it for peace of mind. Delete it and never remember the point this all came to, the aimless place he had finally arrived before. Stories stopped in medias res are the only fairy tales. That's why, even in those awful cartoons for children, it ends at the beginning of a romance, or it ends with the wedding. The story stops before it can really get into the grit of two people smashed together. The failed expectations. The this-just-isn't-enough. It always is like that.

Heero was like that. _Too little, too late_. 'Hey, I never thought we'd survive and now that we have, well, I have a lot more options. Looking at you, I remember it all. And to function in this new world, I need to forget.' That was some sort of summary of the situation. A Whole New World.

_Yea well me too, Babe._

He had his junkyard.

The Preventers had tried and failed to recruit him. Heero worked freelance for them if there was such a term. Contracted. It was enough to say no.

Days slipped into weeks.

Duo stayed hungry. When he felt manic there was always Joe's. It stashed a boxing ring and a few old punching bags. The owner let him swing by at his leisure for a couple credits a month. He would not go in the ring. The creaky old bags late at night were fine though. He was left alone and it smelled like shit in there. It's all he required of a public space. He could describe any other frequented haunt the same way. The bar, the bodega. If it was lonely and stank, it suited him just fine.

And that's what all of this was. Fine. Final.

He did not fit in this new place.

That much was clear.

It reeked of finality. Soaked Gym socks, stomach acid, sour milk.

It was not as melodramatic as it sounds. It did not even have to do with suffering or guilt or lacking self-esteem. He just got _nervous_ otherwise. If he was surrounded by clean people he was worried he smelled. If he was amongst happy people he was worried he made them sad.

It gave him anxiety. These peace time worries. He did not like them at all.

It was time to get downstairs and open the shop.

Duo sighed, brushing his bangs out of his face as he descended the stairs. The priest outfit had long been retired. It was ratty old jeans and a t-shirt for him. He frowned as he flip the sign in the window to "open" scowling as he unlocked the door and was hit the stench and dry heat of L2's simulated "summer" temperatures. The artificial breeze kicked all the dust and exhaust around everywhere. He shut the door for a moment, grabbing a bandana and holding it against his face. He had to flip the sign in his fenced in yard to "OPEN" and he needed to once-over his piles of salvage. It was an old habit to wake up and make sure all his shit was the way he left it. It was, after all, L2.

He shook his head as he moved back to the door, red bandana pressed hard to his nose, hoping with enough speed, he could complete the required tasks and hurry back inside. He shouldn't even bother. No scrappers were going to be out on a day like today.

He slammed the door shut behind him, glancing up at the simulated excuse for the sky when he suddenly tripped, crashing into and half kicking a piece of machinery that had been left on his front steps.

Duo swore as he tumbled sideways to avoid falling on the part and avoid awkwardly slamming into the hard dusty ground. What kind of fucking idiot would leave junk in the doorway of a business. Duo grinned sourly as he picked himself up, bending over to grab the bandana that had fallen to the ground. It was a small wonder it was even there. Most shit got pinched within a half hour.

With that thought Duo scanned up and down the street, hoping to spot the fool who left it.

The street was undisturbed. Any foot prints in the dust, already swept away thanks to the breeze.

Whatever it was it was on its side. A small grey box. Duo shrugged; maybe no one had wanted to pinch it. Still, it could not have lasted the night.

He bent down to pick up the discarded gift, glancing up sharply and staring back down the street. He stared back down to his hands. It was an old crosley pup radio. The one he once worked on, he could not be sure. He flipped it upside down, as he sat down on the curb, roughly screwing off the bottom with the sharp edge of his fence key. He could tell, once he stared at the guts of the thing.

He swore as he pried back the lid and poked around. He had worked on this radio. He was sure of it. He had carved an X into the bottom of the faceplate.

Next to it was another X and under it, that awful flourish of a Z.

He dropped the radio as he had been burned, leaving it on the street as he hurried back inside and locked the door. Duo swallowed, running his hand through his bangs as he glanced back out the window. He could not just leave it out there.

He forced a deep breath and reached for the lock and door knob once more, he was calmer now. This time, he felt eyes on him.

"What took you so long?" He tried aloud.

No answer.

He sighed, sitting back down on the dusty curb. It was a worth a shot. These days he could hardly tell the difference between the eyes of the living on him and the eyes of the dead.

He frowned again as he picked up the old radio, turning it over in his hands.

He had the tools and the time to get the old radio up and running.

So he would do just that.


End file.
